































^ \ ? U L 




GREY FISH 


BY 

W. VICTOR COOK 

Author of 

** Anton of the Alpt,** **A Wilderness Wooing,** 4’c* 


“Health to Man, and Death to the Grey Fish! “ 

— Shetland New Year Toast 




NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 







Gift 

MAX 16 m 





CONTENTS. 


The Coast Patrol 

• 


• 

• 

• 

t 


PAQB 

1 

The Agency at Soller 

. 


• 

• 

• 

• 


26 

The Secret of the Sierra 


• 

• 

• 

• 


48 

Grey Fish 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 


68 

The Shark’s Cage 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 


93 

The Isle of Ladies . 

• 


• 

• 


• 


117 

Catching a Tartar . 

• 


• 

• 


• 


142 

Captain Carlotta 

• 


• 

• 


• 


158 

The House of the Spy 

• 


• 



• 


179 

The Golden Snuff-Box 

• 


• 


• 

• 


199 

The Bulb-Garden 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 


226 

Blacklisted . 

• 


• 

• 

• 

• 


259 


a 




GREY FISH. 


THE COAST PATROL. 

I. 

HE first time that Donald Bruce made 



contact with the Little Bird the en- 
counter was purely accidental, although (in 
view of certain purposes of his own) the Scot 
had been looking for the man for some weeks, 
in a desultory sort of way, up and down the 
ports of Spain. What the Little Bird might 
be like he had no idea. He had, however, 
a sufficient appreciation of the peculiar flavour 
of Spanish humour to guess that El Pajarillo, 
smuggler, fisherman, and possibly secret agent, 
had very little in common with his nickname 
— except, it might be, a special gift for 
making himself scarce when the moment 
was appropriate. 

Bruce was down on the quayside near the 
Custom-House at Barcelona, watching the 
stevedores at work on a ship which lay moored 
alongside. He was pretty often on the quay- 
side at this and other ports of the Peninsula, 


2 


GREY FISH. 


where the well-known London wine firm of 
M'llroy, M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister had business. 
As a young man of twenty-seven, Bruce had 
lately had to stand a good deal of ‘ chipping ’ 
because he was neither in khaki nor in blue, 
serving his country ‘ Somewhere ’ in Europe, 
Asia, or Africa, or on the Seven Seas, but 
continued to enjoy the privileges of residence 
in a neutral country and ‘ business as usual.’ 
Bruce, however, was not at all the sort of 
young man to be moved from his course by 
‘ chipping.’ He went on frequenting the ports 
of Spain under the auspices of M'llroy, 
M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister ; and if he never 
seemed particularly busy, and if he spent a 
good deal of his time in gossip, it is a fact 
that the canny old surviving principal of the 
famous firm never had a word of complaint 
to utter against the confidential clerk. 

It was blazing hot on the quay. Several 
stevedores had come up from the ship’s hold 
for a breather, and one of them, a great, 
gaunt, grave-faced fellow, with black hair just 
tinged with grey, swung himself up from the 
deck on to the quay, and seizing a skin bottle 
such as the Basque mountaineers use, held 
it high above his head and poured a steady 
stream of wine down his throat, without 
touching the bottle with his lips, and without 


THE COAST PATROL. 


8 


spilling a drop. Then he turned and offered 
the bottle to another man standing beside 
him in the group of spectators about the big 
crane which was loading the ship. 

This other made a wry face. ‘ Gracias, 
little cousin, but I drink a better wine 
nowadays. And I smoke puros of the best. 
None of your cheap cigarettes for me ! And 
you could be doing the same, if you had taken 
my advice.’ 

‘ Bah 1 ’ said the big man contemptuously. 
‘Blood-money! The bubbles in your wine 
are drowned men’s breath.’ He set down his 
wine-skin, lighted a rice-paper cigarette, and 
turned away. 

Bruce, who understood the Catalan tongue 
as well as he understood most of the dialects 
of Spain, stood considering this rather unusual 
remark as he idly watched the scene around 
him. It was a scene full of colour for the 
artist’s brush, full of ‘ copy ’ for the romancer’s 
pen, full of promise for the merchants of the 
great and flourishing port, full of pride for 
Spain. Men of every nation whose shores 
the blue Mediterranean washes were working 
on the ships which lay there — Greeks and 
Maltese, Italians and hardy men of southern 
France, and red-fezzed, swarthy Moors from 
the African coast. 


4 


GREY PISH. 


Suddenly Bruce noted that the man who 
worked the crane engine had by just a second 
failed to stop its circling arm in time. The 
huge steel chain with its massive hook swung 
round like a stroke of fate upon the gaunt 
stevedore, whose face was turned away. The 
young Scot leaped forward, and violently 
pushed the big man aside. 

The stevedore fell on the ground, but was 
up again in a moment, and a long knife 
flashed in the sun. 

‘Your pardon,’ said the Scot quietly; ‘but 
your life was in danger.’ He ducked his own 
head as he spoke, to avoid the back-swing of 
the chain, but in those few seconds it had 
been wound up into safety. 

The Spaniard stood and stared. The 
suddenness of the thing left him for a 
moment speechless. Then, with a splendid 
gesture, he doffed his red Catalan bonnet 
and held out his hand. ‘ Sefior,’ he said, ‘ you 
are a brave man, indeed, and you have a debt 
against Pablo el Pajarillo which he can never 
repay.’ 

Bruce grasped the nervy brown hand. 
‘Never is a long day,’ said he. ‘Will you 
smoke a puro with me?’ He held out his 
cigar-case. 

The gift of a puro is one of the roads to 


THE COAST PATROL. 


5 


the heart of a Spanish peasant, and in a few 
minutes the two men were strolling down the 
quay together. 

‘ What is your name, senor my preserver ? ’ 
asked the Little Bird. 

Bruce told him. ‘You may possibly know 
me by sight. I am in the employ of M‘Ilroy, 
M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister, the wine exporters.’ 

‘ Cierto ! I have seen you before.’ 

They left the quay, and quietly strolled 
along smoking under the palm-trees of the 
Paseo de Coldn towards the great monument 
where the stone Columbus points over the sea. 

‘ These are evil times, Pajarillo,’ said Bruce 
sententiously. 

With a melancholy nod the Little Bird 
agreed. ‘You may well say so, senor. One 
would say the good God was asleep. This 
war is terrible.’ 

‘And yet, to some of your countrymen it 
brings a golden harvest,’ said the Scot. 

* Cierto! When the big dogs fight, the 
little dogs get the bones.’ He held up his 
puro between his finger and thumb and looked 
at it affectionately, but his manner was strictly 
non-committal. 

Bruce gazed reflectively across the sunlit 
waters. ‘Strange things are happening on 
that blue sea,’ said he. 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Very strange things, senor.’ 

‘ And under it, too.’ 

‘ Under it also, senor,’ the Catalan gravely 
agreed. 

‘ Many good ships have been sunk,’ said 
Bruce, blowing out a cloud of blue smoke. 
‘There was a French ship sunk yesterday 
only a few leagues from where we are sitting.’ 

The Little Bird made no comment on this. 

‘Those who sink the ships,’ continued the 
Britisher, ‘require assistance from the main- 
land. There are difficulties in this, but it 
has always been the case that demand creates 
supply. For careful, trusty assistance, liberal 
payment is given. Very liberal payment, my 
friend.’ 

The Catalan sat without speaking on the 
stone bench they had found, and watched the 
faint spiral that curled up into the sunlight 
from the ash at the end of his puro. The 
harshness of his keen, hawk -like face was 
softened by the lines of his mouth. The face 
might have said pirate or brigand ; but the 
mouth, and something in the piercing black 
eyes under their shaggy brows, said poet. 
For just an instant his eyes quivered as he 
gave a swift side-glance at his companion. 
But the Scot was not looking at him. 

‘I have heard of men,’ said Bruce, ‘who 


THE COAST PATROL. 


7 


but recently were as poor as muleteers. Now 
they are quite rich. They made their money 
by being careful and clever. But for such 
men, I dare say the French ship would still 
be on her voyage.’ 

‘Bahl’ 

There was a violence of disgust in the ex- 
clamation as the Spaniard rose suddenly to 
his feet, flinging from him as he did so the 
half-smoked cigar. 

The Scot smiled pleasantly and took out 
his cigar-case again. ‘Try another. You 
will find several brands there.’ 

‘ Senor,’ said the older man, his lined brown 
face working curiously, ‘ I do not understand 
you. It is true that you have done me a 
good turn — you have saved me perhaps a few 
years of life. Also, it is true that I am a poor 
man. Perhaps some one has told you that I 
am a contrabandista. Nevertheless, I have 
my principles. And I do not take money to 
assist in cowardly murders. No, por Dios, I 
do not ! And I say again, senor, I do not 
understand you.’ 

Bruce answered, ‘ I wish you to understand 
me. That is why I ask you to sit down 
again, while I make my meaning clearer. 
The remarks you have just made, Pajarillo 
mio, confirm the impression I had already 


8 


GREY FISH. 


formed that you do not approve of these 
submarine atrocities.’ 

‘ Maria purisima ! But I do not.’ 

‘ I am very glad to hear you say so,’ said 
the Scot. ‘ I was going on to say that 
although the rewards are large which may be 
earned by those who help these murderers, 
a respectable sum may also be made by honest 
people who help to hinder them. British gold 
is as good as German gold, mi Pajarillo, with 
the advantage of being cleaner. I hope that 
is a better cigar.’ 

‘ An excellent puro, senor. As good, in its 
way, as English gold.’ A faint suspicion of a 
smile showed on the grave brown face. 

The Britisher nodded. ‘ I happen, Pablo, 
to know a good deal about the terms which 
persons who may be trusted are prepared to 
offer for this class of business. I am wonder- 
ing whether it would interest you to hear 
what they are.’ 

‘ Senor Bruce, I feel sure it would,’ answered 
the Catalan. 

‘ In strict confidence, you understand ? ’ 

‘ Senor, the name of El Pajarillo is known 
along the coast. This is a Little Bird which 
does not twitter.’ 

‘ Good ! For every submarine that is tracked 
down, and for every secret consignment of 


THE COAST PATROI. 


9 


stores for a German or Austrian submarine 
that is definitely prevented from reaching its 
destination, the persons in question are pre- 
pared to pay the sum of forty-five hundred 
pesetas in Spanish notes — or, if preferred, in 
British gold. What are your views on that ? ’ 

The Little Bird considered his cigar-end 
veiy gravely. ‘ Since you do me the honour 
to ask my opinion, Senor Bruce, I should say 
it would be more satisfactory to make it level 
money. What is five thousand pesetas to the 
Government of Great Britain ? ’ 

‘A drop in the bucket, truly. But it is 
important to remember that here is no ques- 
tion of the British Government. The British 
Government knows nothing about it. Govern- 
ment patronage, Pablo, is apt to prove a grave 
handicap to practical utility.’ 

The Little Bird nodded. ‘ I can well believe 
you, senor, though I have never myself enjoyed 
the opportunity to judge. Then you are not 
an officer ? ’ 

‘Upon my word of honour, no. And the 
money I bargain with is private money, every 
peseta.’ 

The Little Bird was silent. His puro was 
capital, and there was a flavour about the 
whole business which appealed to him. He 
had taken rather a fancy to this young man 


10 


GREV FISH. 


who had saved his life, but the Catalans 
cannot help being the keenest business men 
in Spain. So he said, ‘Level money is best, 
seflor. It is best for both sides to be satisfied.’ 

Donald Bruce waved a hand in a manner 
indicative of long residence in the South. 
‘We will not haggle like a pair of market- 
women,’ said he. ‘ Level money it shall be, 
Pajarillo, for every vessel destroyed, and every 
consignment stopped, without publicity, or 
trouble of any sort with the authorities of 
your country. And fighting should only be 
in self-defence. If there is publicity, or if the 
Spanish Customs get to know of the business, 
the price drops a thousand pesetas.’ 

‘ That is only reasonable,’ El Pajarillo 
agreed. ‘ And it is proper to make a stand 
about the fighting. Fighting is good enough 
in the right place, but it would not be seemly 
to spill good Spanish blood over the affairs 
of foreigners.’ 

‘ Then you are satisfied ? ’ 

‘ Senor, I am satisfied. The work is good, 
and the pay is good. But I would have you 
know this, that though I will take your pay — 
being a poor man, as I have said — I do not 
work for the sake of the pay alone. I work 
for vengeance. For it is not yet a month since 
my brother Pedro was drowned by those sea- 


THE COAST PATROL. 


11 


murderers on a voyage between here and 
Marseilles. A Spaniard, on a Spanish ship ! 
His orphan children are in my house, senor, 
and his memory is in my heart.’ The Catalan 
smote himself on the breast with a sudden 
blaze of passion, in curious contrast to his 
previous calm manner. Next moment the 
fire that had flashed in his dark eyes seemed 
to go out again. ‘ One thing puzzles me,’ he 
said quietly. ‘ If there is a claim, how will 
you know that the claim is good ? ’ 

‘ I shall be there to help you to make it so, 
Pajarillo mio. We British do not pay other 
men to take our risks for us. You will report 
to me every time you get such knowledge 
as will enable you to make an attempt to 
earn the reward.’ 

The Little Bird rose from the seat to his 
full height, and smiled. ‘ I propose to make 
the first one to-night,’ he said. 

Bruce started. ‘ V algame Dios ! but you 
work quickly, my friend.’ 

‘ The quicker the work, the sooner the pay. 
Do you come with me ? ’ 

‘ I have said so.’ 

‘ Then go, half-an-hour after sunset, to the 
“ Venta del Pescador,” at the south end of the 
CaUe Cristobal, and ask for a bottle of English 
beer. The landlord will hand you, with your 


12 


GREY FISH. 


beer, a bundle of clothes, and show you a 
room where you can put them on. He will 
let you into the street by another door, and 
you will go and loiter by the office of the 
Balearic Islands steamers till you see me.’ 

‘ One would think you had planned all this 
a month ago 1 ’ 

‘ Senor, a contrahandistd s gun must be 
always loaded.’ 

There was a quiet air of assurance about 
the Little Bird, and he bore himself with an 
easy dignity almost Castilian. He seemed 
perfectly straightforward, but Bruce could not 
help feeling a little uneasy at the rapidity 
with which Pajarillo had arranged to capture 
a U-boat’s cargo of stores. He kept his suspi- 
cions to himself, however, and promising to 
carry out the appointed programme, he took 
his departure. 


II. 

It had been night for a couple of hours 
when two men, one elderly and the other 
young, wearing fishermen’s clothes and the red 
Catalan bonnet, walked down to the landing- 
stage of the fashionable Barcelona Yacht 
Club. The elder paused for a moment beside 
a light dinghy which was drawn up on the 
beach, and looked full at his companion. 


THE COAST PATROI. 


18 


‘ You are quite resolved to come with me ? ' 
he inquired. ‘ I warn you, Senor Bruce, this 
is a ticklish business.’ 

The young Scot gave a low laugh. ‘The 
fee is calculated on that basis.’ 

‘Good!’ said the Little Bird. ‘You take 
your life in your hands, but I see that you 
have a man’s eyes in the face of a boy, and 
I am not afraid to have you with me. These 
gentlemen who emulate the prophet Jonah 
in their methods of travel are horribly quick- 
witted, and if they found us trying to trick 
them, we should not try again. Come.’ 

They shoved the dinghy into the water. 
The Catalan pulled across the dark harbour to 
a large fishing-smack lying at her moorings. 
They scrambled aboard, and the rigging 
creaked as the big brown sail slowly climbed 
the raking mast. 

In a few minutes the smack was gliding 
through the shipping towards the outer 
harbour. She passed beyond the mole, and 
leaned bravely to her work as she took the 
open sea. The land lines dimmed behind them 
along the rocky coast. For an hour they 
sailed in full darkness over the sea. Their 
boat showed no lights, but in the stern a red 
spot glowed where the black shape of the 
Little Bird sat smoking at the tiller, and 


14 


GREY FISH. 


around the dipping bows the sea — that sea so 
intensely blue when the sun shines on it — 
flashed in the night with a myriad sparks 
of green. At length, in the far south-east, 
where the Balearie Isles lay under the hori- 
zon, the waning moon rose from the water’s 
brim. 

El Pajarillo asked suddenly, ‘ Do you write 
poetry, Seflor Bruce ? ’ 

‘ I have done so,’ replied the Scot, surprised 
at the question. 

‘Most young men do,’ the smuggler said. 
‘ And some older men.’ 

‘ Are you, then, a poet. Little Bird ? ’ 

‘ Hardly so much. Yet, sometimes, I have 
set down the thoughts which a man has, 
young sir, on such a night as this. In our 
Floral Contests, the wreath has sometimes 
been given to me. But you are English, 
and do not know of these contests of our 
Catalans. And yet you understand our 
idiom, which is strange in a foreigner.’ 

‘ I love Spain,’ Bruce answered simply. 
‘It is a hobby of mine to understand all 
her dialects. Tell me of your contests.’ 

‘ They say that here in Cataluna we talk a 
savage jargon, and have no poets,’ pursued the 
Little Bird. ‘But every year, back there in 
Barcelona, from all places where the Catalan 


THE COAST PATROL. 


15 


speech is heard, down all this eastern shore, 
and from the Balearics, men compete with 
verse and song, for no reward but simply a 
wreath of flowers. If you care to listen, I 
will recite to you what I have felt on such a 
night as this.’ 

‘I am listening,’ said Bruce. The strange 
personality of the Little Bird began to grow 
upon him. 

The smuggler’s voice seemed to take on 
something of the murmur of the waves as he 
repeated a few short verses, soothful as a 
charm. The Scot, his head in his hands, 
found himself recalling the Vergil of his 
college days. He thought of Palinurus, the 
helmsman of iEneas, swooning under that 
night of stars when the magic voices sounded 
from the deep, till he fell from the high poop, 
and was lost for evermore. 

‘ You wrote that ? ’ exclaimed Bruce. 

‘Not in my name, senor. El Pajarillo is 
the name of a doer, not a dreamer. But I 
wrote it down, because I felt it. Now, tell 
me what you have felt.’ 

‘My verses were written in English,’ said 
Bruce. 

‘ Never mind. If they are good, they will 
have their harmony. Ah — pardon a moment ! 
Did you see an5rthing ? ’ 


16 


GREY FISH. 


‘ I thought I saw a red flash in the north- 
east.’ 

‘ Wait a little, and watch if it comes again.’ 

In a few minutes they saw the flash again, 
faint but unmistakable — three red sparks that 
winked across the sea. The Little Bird dived 
into the cockpit of the boat, and came out 
with a dark lantern. Five green flashes he 
sent across the sea. They were answered by 
a single flash of red. The Catalan put down 
the darkened lantern, and resumed his seat at 
the tiller. 

‘Now for your verses, senor. But keep 
low down forward. You must not be seen.’ 

Never in his life had Donald Bruce felt in 
a less poetic mood. His blood was dancing 
with the excitement of action. But he had 
conceived a sudden and immense respect for 
the keen old Catalan at the helm, and in a 
level voice he repeated some verses which he 
had once composed in Edinburgh while lying 
on Arthur’s Seat, looking out across the 
Pentland Hills. 

El Pajarillo grunted. ‘ It sounds well, 
senor. It sounds very well. You must com- 
pose me something in the Spanish. Now, have 
the goodness to get under that sacking. I 
am going to lower the sail.’ 

The smack came up into the wind, and the 


THE COAST PATROL. 17 

great gaff creaked down the mast. They 
rocked easily on the calm sea. 

They had not waited five minutes, when 
close beside them the shimmer of the moon- 
light on the waves was broken as by the back 
of a great fish. The conning-tower of a sub- 
marine rose from the water. In the forepart 
of the wicked-looking craft a gun was trained 
on the smack. A voice hailed them in care- 
ful Castilian, spoken with a harsh, guttural 
accent. 

‘ What boat is that ? ’ 

‘Not the boat which you expect, senor 
capitan,' answered the voice of El Pajarillo. 
‘The British Secret Service has heard some- 
thing. Something is suspected. Juan de Roca 
is watched. He is afraid. Three English de- 
stroyers are hunting off the coast. Juan sent 
me to warn you. For Dios, Juan is in a fine 
way 1 His boat is lying in the port deep 
laden, all ready, but he dared not put to sea 
to-night. There will be trouble with the 
Government if he is caught.’ 

There was an unmistakable sound of Teu- 
tonic cursing from the submarine’s deck. 

‘ What is your name ? ’ snapped the officer. 

‘ Sebastian Dombre, at your honour’s ser- 
vice, Venta del Pescador, Calle Cristobal, 
Barcelona.’ 


B 


18 


GREY FISH. 


The prompt precision of the answer seemed 
to mollify the German a little. 

‘These destroyers — where are they?’ he 
demanded. 

‘ Dios sabe ! They were off the coast here 
all afternoon, circling round and round, making 
one giddy to watch them. And at a speed — 
caramha, what a speed ! If they should catch 
me here, I am a lost man.’ 

‘Come aboard,’ cried the German. ‘You 
must send a telegram for me.’ 

‘I am at your honour’s feet. But as for 
coming aboard, I have no boat, nor men to 
pull her if I had. For this business, senor 
capitan, one man is useful, but two is a crowd. 
It is dangerous, por Diost If you would 
send a boat for me? But, for the love of 
Heaven, be quick ! If these English destroyers, 
which are the very devil, should pick us up 
with their searchlights, I in my poor boat 
cannot sink into safety like you.’ 

The German cursed again. ‘I have no 
time to get out a boat, my friend. Fling me 
a line.’ 

The Little Bird complied with alacrity. A 
rope was made fast to the gun-mounting of 
the submarine, and the U-boat went slowly 
astern, while the officer descended the conning- 
tower. Round the gun a group of sailors 


THE COAST PATROL. 


19 


stood motionless as bronze figures. The Little 
Bird sat with his hand on the tiller of the 
smack, keeping her head straight as she towed 
slowly on the line. 

In a very few minutes the German officer 
returned on deck, fastened something to the 
line on which the smack was towing, and 
ordered his crew to cast off*. 

‘You will hand in the telegram, which you 
will find fastened in a rubber bag on your 
rope, at the first opportunity at the Barcelona 
office,’ he cried. ‘ You will tell your country- 
man, Juan Roca, that the German Navy pays 
on results, and not on promises. If the order 
contained in that telegram is faithfully exe- 
cuted, he will receive his payment through 
the usual source. Vaya con Dios ! ’ 

He snapped a guttural order to his crew, 
who promptly followed him into the body 
of the U-boat. The gun sank as though by 
magic into the whale-like body of the vessel, 
which a few seconds later disappeared beneath 
the water, leaving nothing but a tiny white 
wake in the moonlight where her periscope 
splashed through the calm sea as she sped on 
her stealthy way in the night. 

With great deliberation El Pajarillo drew 
in the slack of his tow-line and unfastened the 
little waterproof bag containing the German’s 


20 


GREY FISH. 


message. Very deliberately he hoisted sail, 
and stood away for the distant Spanish 
coast. 

‘ If you will take my advice, Senor Bruce,’ 
said he to his hidden passenger, ‘ you will not 
expose yourself to view till we have put a 
reasonable distance between ourselves and 
those gentry yonder. They are as full of 
tricks as a wagon-load of monkeys. When 
you are wanted I shall call you.’ 

III. 

For half-an-hour they sailed in silence over 
the dreaming sea. Then said the Little Bird, 
‘It is your turn now, senor. Here comes 
Juan with his boatload of supplies which the 
Germans are running away from.’ 

The Scot came out of his hiding-place. 
Between them and the land a sail was 
approaching. 

‘ What are we to do now ? ’ asked Bruce. 

‘ That is for you to decide, seflor,’ said the 
Little Bird respectfully. ‘ As for me, I have 
earned my five thousand pesetas. I take no 
action against my countrymen.’ 

Bruce considered the situation. ‘ If I bluff 
them,’ he asked, ‘ you will support me ? ’ 

‘ I will stand by you, seflor, except to offer 
violence to a Spaniard. And I beg you to 


THE COAST PATROL. 


21 


observe that I do not wish to be identified in 
this business.’ 

At that moment three red flashes showed 
from the distant sailing-boat. 

‘Very well,’ Bruce said. ‘Answer those 
flashes as the Germans answered us.’ 

El Pajarillo did so. Almost immediately 
the approaching smack lowered her sails. 

‘ Is this your own boat ? ’ asked the Scot. 

The Little Bird laughed. ‘ Senor Bruce, 
I am not so simple. They will not know me 
by the boat.’ 

‘ Give me the tiller,’ said Bruce shortly. 
‘ Hide yourself as much as you can if you do 
not want to be recognised, but go forward and 
be ready to lower sail when I give the word.’ 

The smuggler gave up the tiller, and, 
without a word spoken, proceeded to strip 
off his clothing till he stood mother-naked 
in the faint moonlight. 

‘ What are you doing ? ’ asked the astonished 
Scot. 

‘ Concealing myself,’ said the Catalan, with 
a chuckle. ‘There is sometimes no more 
effective way of concealing one’s self than 
by revealing one’s self entirely. Unless you 
can see his face, it is impossible to identify a 
naked man in the dark. Thanks be to God, 
the night is warm.’ He snatched off the red 


22 


GREY FISH. 


Robespierre cap of his province, and twisted 
his shirt round his head in the manner of a 
turban. ‘They will be surprised,’ said he 
calmly. ‘A man surprised is already half 
conquered.’ 

Bruce gave a little excited laugh. He ran 
on to within a few yards of the strange smack, 
and then quickly gave the order to slack the 
halyards. His naked companion, an eerie 
figure in the darkness, leaped up from the 
cockpit, and down came the big sail. The 
boat’s way carried her close to the new-comers. 

Bruce left the tiller and ran forward. 

‘ Throw a line,’ he cried, making his Spanish 
as harsh as he could. ‘ I come from the 
German captain.’ 

There was a momentary stir on the second 
smack, but a line came flying, and Bruce 
caught it right seaman-like and made fast. 
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the naked 
figure of his companion standing over the 
tiller. The smacks drifted together so that 
they almost touched. 

‘ Listen, all of you, and mark my words ! ’ 
cried Bruce. ‘ I have come from the German 
captain, as I told you, but the German captain 
and all his crew are sunk beneath the sea. 
The sea, gentlemen, is the hunting-ground of 
Britain, and the night about you is full of eyes.’ 


THE COAST PATROL. 


23 


A man of the smack’s crew moved towards 
the tow-rope. 

‘Leave that rope,’ thundered Bruce, ‘or I 
signal to the watching eyes of the sea ! Obey 
me, and you may take your boat back to 
Barcelona with the morning light. Disobey, 
and your death lies at your own door I ’ 

‘Who are you?’ came a voice in scared 
surprise. 

Bruce laughed. ‘ I am one of Britain’s 
eyes,’ he cried. ‘Juan de Roca, I give you 
fifteen minutes to heave overboard every 
ounce of that which you have brought for the 
German submarine’s captain. He will meet 
it, perhaps, at the bottom of the Mediter- 
ranean.’ He laughed again. ‘ Do you hear ? ’ 
he cried. 

‘ Yes, I hear.’ 

‘Then, hurry. And I am coming aboard 
to see it done. Hoist your foresail, and w’e 
will tow astern. Quick ! ’ 

He heard an order given, and, to his immense 
relief, the strange smack’s foresail fluttered up 
in the light air. Bruce shouted an order in 
English to El Pajarillo, which that individual 
neither understood nor was intended to under- 
stand. He kept his hand on the tiller, how- 
ever, which was what the order told him to 
do, and Bruce, hauling on the tow-line, leaped 


24 


GREY FISH. 


aboard Juan’s boat, where he took his stand 
with a revolver beside the steersman. 

The fishermen, thoroughly deceived by his 
assurance, and by the unexpectedness of the 
whole thing, were already throwing overside 
one heavy package after another. The boat’s 
deckboards were hastily pulled up, and can 
after can of oil and spirit was committed to 
the sea. Not a word more spoke the young 
Scot, standing there like a very pirate, with 
his red cap pulled down almost over his eyes, 
and careful not to expose his back to the 
helmsman. The boat, which reeked of oil, 
already floated perceptibly lighter in the 
water. 

At last it was done. The emptying had 
been very thorough, and though Bruce could 
not be sure that everything had gone, he felt 
that sufficient justice had been done to the 
situation. The smack’s captain, a stout, evil- 
looking fellow, whom he recognised as the 
man he had overheard boasting on the quay, 
came up to him in a truculent manner. 

‘ Senor Englishman, where do I get payment 
for all this wasted cargo ? ’ 

Bruce laughed. ‘ I should advise an applica- 
tion at the German Consulate, Senor Roca. 
My advice would also include a warning that 
for the future your fishing will be watched 


THE COAST PATROL 


25 


with a peculiar interest by the coast patrol. 
Adios, Senor Roca ! You may now make sail. 
Suen viaje!' Bruce deliberately turned his 
back on the furious Catalan, and hauled on 
the tow-line till his own smack was close 
enough for a leap aboard. Then he threw off 
the tow-rope. He picked up the Little Bird’s 
dark lantern, and sent two red flashes across 
the sea, as though signalling. 

Juan de Roca was a prudent man. At the 
sight of those flashes he was glad he had 
resisted the sore temptation which had beset 
him to stick his knife into the back of this 
Britisher. Already his big sail was climbing 
his mast, and a few minutes later his discom- 
fited crew were well on their way home. 

‘We will wait here a little while,’ said 
Bruce. ‘While we are waiting you might 
put your clothes on. I should not like you to 
catch a chill, oh my Little Bird. We will 
run down the coast a little before we land. 
It would be imprudent to go ashore just now 
at Barcelona. We can, perhaps, have a little 
more poetry on the way back. You will hand 
me the German’s telegram, and by-and-by 
I shall hand you the five thousand pesetas. 
And I hope it may not be the last time you 
and I go hunting together.’ 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 

I. 

HE shadows cast by the lantern moved 



to and fro to the swing of the vessel 
as Donald Bruce sat in the tiny cabin of the 
Spanish fishing-boat, poring over the message 
which he and his companion had been ordered 
to hand in at the telegraph-office at Barcelona. 

The message which Bruce was studying 
was written in fair Castilian on a page torn 
from a note-book. Being translated, it ran : 

‘ Frankenfest, Seller. Our representative will 
honour himself by ealling on you on Saturday 
about one o’cloek to inspect your stock with 
view to important purchases. — Retnu & Co.’ 

Bruce came out on deck, and went to 
where the lean figure of the Little Bird 
sprawled at the tiller. ‘Pajarillo mio^ said 
he, ‘ how long will it take us to make port ? ’ 

‘With this head- wind, sen or, six hours at 
the least.’ 

The Scot repeated to him the message he 
had just read. ‘ Do you know of a firm of 
the name of Retnu ? ’ 

‘ Homhre ! What a name 1 I never heard 
of it before.’ 


THE AGENCY AT SOIJ,ER. 


27 


‘ 1 thought not. Suppose we spell it back- 
wards. We get Unter, which is Boche for 
“ under,” Little Bird. The message means, I 
take it, that at one o’clock on Saturday Senor 
Underwater and his friends will try to get 
from this Frankenfest fellow at Soller a cargo 
of stores such as we have just stopped him 
fi’om getting at Barcelona.’ 

‘ Clearly,’ agreed the Little Bird. 

‘ It is a head- wind for the mainland, but it 
is a fair wind for the Balearics, is it not ? ’ 

‘ Very true, senor.’ 

‘ If we could contrive to put a spoke in the 
wheel of this Frankenfest, it would be another 
five thousand pesetas in your pocket, Pajarillo.’ 

‘ Under the terms of our agreement, that 
would be so,’ said the Catalan. ‘ But I would 
beg you to observe, Senor Bruce, that it is a 
long way from here to Soller. It would take 
us three days and nights of sailing if the wind 
holds fair. And we are not provisioned for 
so long a journey.’ 

‘We have enough to drink,’ said the Scot; 
‘and there are fish in the sea.’ 

‘But there is also the German submarine 
in the sea. Suppose our fine captain sights 
us going east, whereas he told us to go west ? 
In that case it will be the fish that will get 
us, and not we the fish, Senor Bruce.’ 


28 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Very true,’ said Bruce. ‘ And yet, Pajarillo, 
five thousand pesetas ’ 

‘Senor, do not misunderstand me. I was 
only indicating that difficulties exist. The 
cause is a good cause ; and a good cause, 
supported by five thousand pesetas, will always 
command the respectful consideration of Pablo 
el Pajarillo. Mind the boom, senor — I am 
going about.’ 

The Little Bird pushed the tiller down as 
he spoke, and a minute later the boat, her big 
lateen sail filling before the favouring breeze, 
was heading due east to where the horizon 
was already paling for the dawn. 

The boat was an ancient craft, but sea- 
worthy enough, and the westerly wind followed 
them loyally for a couple of days and nights, 
during which they took alternate tricks at 
the tiller. They caught little fish, being 
anxious to get on their way without delay, 
and by the evening of the second day they 
were both pretty sharp-set. 

‘ I could make a fine verse about a plate of 
soup,’ said the smuggler. 

‘ How far do you reckon it to Mallorca ? ’ 
asked the Scot, as they sat smoking while the 
sun went down. Fortunately they had plenty 
of tobacco. 

‘ Fifty miles.’ 


THE AGEXCV AT SOIT.ER. 


29 


‘ The distance from London to Brighton,’ 
muttered Bruce, ‘They serve a good meal 
on the week-end Pullman. Suppose the wind 
drops, Little Bird ? ’ 

‘ Then we will fish.’ 

‘ I could eat a whale,’ said Bruce. He took 
a look round the waste of deep-blue sea, and 
suddenly stood up. ‘ Look, Pajarillo I There 
is a steamer yonder to the eastward. If we 
shift a point or two she will pass within hail. 
Perhaps she will give us a few loaves.’ 

The Catalan shrugged. ‘More likely she 
would take us for a decoy, and show us 
a pair of heels. Madre de Dios! what is 
that ? ’ 

An awful detonation came across the sea. 
Where the steamer had been, three or four 
miles away, a dense black cloud, shot through 
Avith crimson fire, rose from the sea against 
the paling eastern sky. It lifted slowly, and 
showed the steamer still there, but with one 
mast instead of two, and belching smoke and 
flame. 

‘ Torpedoed ! ’ shouted Bruce. ‘ Quick, 
Pajarillo — to the rescue ! ’ 

‘ I think we are like to want rescue our- 
selves if we go that way,’ said the Spaniard 
grimly. ‘ But it shows you read the telegram 
aright 1 ’ 


30 


6RKY FISH. 


Without more ado he shifted the helm, and 
they sailed towards the burning vessel. 

Bruce was watching her intently. ‘ She 
won’t last till we reach her,’ he groaned. 

‘ God ! Look at that ! ’ 

As a diving porpoise throws up his tail, so 
the stricken steamer suddenly threw up her 
dismasted stern and plunged bodily beneath 
the waves. A great cloud of mingled smoke 
and steam hung for a few moments above the 
place of her disappearing, and then the sea 
rolled cold and empty in the dusk. 

No, not quite empty. Straining their eyes, 
they perceived a tiny black spot. 

‘ A boat ! ’ said the smuggler, grey-faced in 
the fading light. ‘Yah! If I had that sea- 
murderer’s throat in my two hands I ’ 

The black spot grew slowly clearer as they 
sailed towards it. Of the murderers there was 
no sign. By-and-by they reached the boat, 
and lowered sail for the rescue. 

Half-a-dozen nerve-shattered men were in 
the boat, one with his leg broken ; three 
women ; a child of four with a crushed arm ; 
and two dead bodies singed with fire. These 
were all that were left of a ship’s company of 
threescore. They had not an ounce of food 
or a drop of drink among them. 

The adventurers helped the poor creatures 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


31 


on to the fishing-boat, and towing the ship’s 
boat, made sail again for the Balearics. The 
ship had been an Italian vessel, from Naples 
to Valencia. There had been no warning. 
They had not even seen their murderers. 

On through the starry night sailed the 
Spanish craft, the westerly wind still filling 
her sails, and the sea sparkling phosphorescent 
in her wake. 

At midnight Bruce was at the tiller, steer- 
ing a course which the Little Bird had set 
him by the stars. Suddenly a blinding light 
enveloped the little vessel. Several of the 
shipwrecked Italians sat up on the deck, where 
they had been stretched, their faces white in 
the dazzling ray. As swiftly and silently as 
it had flashed on them, the light vanished. 
For a few minutes they held their course. 
Then came a swishing sound close astern. A 
low black shape raced up alongside, churning 
the water white with her railway speed ere 
her engines slowed, and through a megaphone 
a hoarse voice challenged in French and ordered 
them to heave to. 

Pajarillo the smuggler emerged from the 
cabin, where he had been nursing the injured 
child, and lowered sail ; while Bruce pulled 
in the boat towing astern, and went aboard 
the destroyer to tell his story. He came back 


82 


»REy FISH. 


with a lieutenant, a surgeon, and a case of 
stores. 

Before the two officers returned to their 
ship they shook hands with extreme cordiality 
with both the young Scot and his companion, 
and the lieutenant said some things which 
made Bruce glad of the darkness to cover his 
blushes. The lieutenant had approved the 
fishing-vessel’s programme, but had pointed 
out that this was Thursday night, and that 
there was no time to lose. ‘ Bonne chance f ’ 
said he. ‘We also shall try to be at the 
rendezvous. You may not see us, but you 
may hear us if we have good hunting. Apres 
la guerre. Little Bird, you shall fly to visit 
me in Paris.’ 

Again the sea churned white as the black 
shape sped away into the night, and the 
smuggler hoisted sail again for the islands. 

II. 

The breeze held steady through the night, 
but lost its force at dawn. There was a haze 
over the sea as the sun came up, but El 
Pajarillo, shading tired eyes with his wrinkled 
brown hands, said he saw the mountains of 
Mallorca. Sure enough, another hour’s sailing 
brought them well in sight of land. 

El Pajarillo called the mate of the Italian 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


33 


steamer, who was among the rescued, and — 
Bruce interpreting — asked if he wished to 
avenge the loss of his ship and men. The 
flash of the eye and the fierce gleam of teeth 
between the black moustache and beard were 
answer enough. 

‘ I am going to steal your boat, amigo mio, 
but I am going to leave you my little ship. 
Sail her into Palma yonder. Our Mallorquins 
are hospitable. Tell them how the cursed 
Germans sank your ship. It will do you no 
harm to hint that they came up from behind 
a deserted Spanish fishing- boat — this boat of 
mine — and that you who survive were able 
to get on board and make for Mallorca. It 
is giving the murdering Jonahs more credit 
than they are entitled to, but my friend 
and I, por Dios! vdll set the balance right 
for you if we can. Above all, let none of 
you breathe a word of the French warship. 
So shall your dead be avenged. Do you 
swear it ? ’ 

His right hand on his heart, his left out- 
stretched to the blue sky, the Italian vowed 
compliance. Then, with the tears running 
down his face, he kissed his rescuer on both 
cheeks ere the Little Bird climbed down with 
Bruce into the smaller boat. 

This, too, had a small mast and sail, and 
0 


34 


GREY FISH. 


before midday El Pajarillo, who knew the 
rocky island coasts like the palm of his hand, 
brought her to land at a lonely spot not too 
far from their destination. 

Then, through the hot, vine-clad hills, the 
two adventurers made their way to Soller. 
They came to that pleasant valley about 
sunset, and as they went down towards the 
village they fell in with a goat-herd driving 
in his flock for the evening milking. With 
this youth the Little Bird opened conversation, 
confiding to him, among other things of less 
account, that his name was Juan de Roca, a 
sailor from Barcelona. Now Juan de Roca, 
as Bruce very well remembered, was the name 
of the man whose efforts to supply the German 
U-boat with its needed stores they had just 
frustrated. For the Little Bird calmly to 
appropriate his luckless countryman’s name 
and address struck the Scot as a very neat 
piece of impudence. 

Having regaled the admiring goat-herd with 
several fantastic tales such as the sailors of all 
nations are addicted to telling, El Pajarillo 
asked him casually, ‘And do you happen to 
know if there is still in Soller a fellow named 
Frankenfest, a German ? ’ 

‘Why,’ said the boy, ‘it is he who keeps 
the store at the corner of our street.’ 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 85 

‘In that case, little friend of mine, it will 
be easy for you to earn five pesetas.’ 

The lad’s dark eyes gleamed. 

‘ God helping you,’ said the smuggler, ‘ you 
might, as a sharp lad, make ten. The point 
is this. My friend and I have to get back 
to Palma with the least possible delay. You 
have only to take this message’ — here the 
Little Bird produced the scrap of paper the 
German captain had given him — ‘and deliver 
it into Senor Frankenfest’s own hands. His 
own hands, understand — not his wife’s, nor 
anybody else’s in the world.’ 

‘ I understand, Senor de Roca.’ 

‘Very well. Here is five pesetas. Can you 
read ? ’ 

‘No.’ 

‘No matter. Having delivered the paper, 
you will ask Senor Frankenfest for another 
five pesetas, though you will not be so great 
a fool as to tell him you have already received 
any. Probably he will offer you less, but he 
will certainly ask you from whom you had 
the message. It is then that you will use 
your wits, little one, and tell him no more 
till you have the money in your hand. See ? ’ 

‘Perfectly, Senor de Roca,’ grinned the 
boy. 

‘Then, adelante! We part here. In case 


36 


GREY FISH. 


you would like to know what is in the paper, 
I may tell you, since you seem a sharp 
lad, that it informs Senor Frankenfest that a 
client intends calling on him to-morrow on 
important business. So now you know as 
much as I do. Adios/' 

As soon as the goat-herd had disappeared 
with his charges round a bend of the road, 
El Pajarillo, instead of setting out for Palma, 
sat down by a hedge of flowering cactus and 
calmly lit a cigarette. ‘ It is about one o’clock 
on Saturday,’ said he between his puffs, ‘ that 
the precious representative of this precious 
under-water villain will do himself the honour 
to call on Senor Frankenfest to make his im- 
portant purchases. The question is, amigo 
mio, which one o’clock ? ’ 

‘ I should say one hour after midnight. 
Little Bird.’ 

The smuggler nodded. ‘ From now till one 
in the morning you and I must watch this 
Frankenfest as a cat watches a mouse. Some- 
thing tells me we shall spend a busy night, 
Senor Bruce.’ 

‘ The busier the better. Little Bird,’ smiled 
the Scot. 

They smoked a cigarette each, and went 
on quietly to the village. It was quite dark 
when they reached the plaza; but in Seller, 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


87 


as in many another village of that Spain which 
some think so backward, there is a sufficient 
service of electric light, and in the glow of a 
lamp over Frankenfest’s store they had the 
satisfaction of seeing from a little distance 
their goat-herd in altercation with a stout 
man in the doorway. After a few minutes 
the lad departed, putting something in his 
pocket. 

‘ That is a sharp lad,’ said Bruce. ‘ Do you 
suppose the German suspects anything ? ’ 

‘Why should he?’ the Little Bird de- 
manded. ‘He is an agent for this submarine 
fellow, and he has his employer’s signature. 
What more does the villain want ? ’ 

III. 

It was a little after nine. As they stood 
smoking and watching the store from the 
convenient shadow of a fig-tree, a civil guard 
approached. They engaged him in conversa- 
tion, explaining that they had missed the last 
train back to Palma by the little island rail- 
way, and inquiring as to a cheap posada in 
which they might pass the night. Both still 
wore the fisherman’s dress in which they had 
embarked from Barcelona. 

Suddenly Bruce noticed the stout figure 
emerge from the store and walk away down 


38 


GREY FISH. 


the road at a smart pace. The Little Bird 
did not seem to have observed the fact, being 
apparently entirely engrossed in discussing the 
comparative merit of two houses which the 
guard had mentioned. In vain Bruce sought 
to catch his comrade’s eye, and his impatience 
increased each moment as the German became 
gradually lost to view in the darkness. Only 
then did the old smuggler seem reluctantly to 
make up his mind, and with what seemed a 
needless profusion of thanks, and the deferen- 
tial offer of a cigarette to the guard, he took 
a polite leave, and the two friends started very 
deliberately down the long street. 

‘ Pajarillo, we shall lose our man ! He 
went down the road while you were arguing 
with the guard,’ said Bruce the moment they 
were out of earshot. 

‘ Not so fast, my friend,’ chuckled the old 
contrabandista. ‘You are a good Spaniard 
for most purposes, but you have not learned 
that in this country one must hasten slowly, 
and not omit the little ceremonies of life. 
Now I must go into the posada and arrange 
for our night’s lodging, in case our friend the 
guard should take it into his head to look in 
for us. I shall explain that we have a call 
to make before supper.’ 

‘ But meantime our man has disappeared.’ 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


39 


‘We shall find him. Look you, Senor 
Bruce, while I am in the inn you will follow 
this German, There is no turning from this 
road till you get near the sea. You will sight 
him before he can turn aside; and you will 
follow him. Whenever you come to a turn- 
ing, you will drop a bit of paper at the 
entrance of the road he has taken. He will 
go eventually to the sea — we know that — and 
when you have tracked him to the end of his 
journey, you will wait for me. In a quarter 
of an hour I shall be with you,’ He glanced 
behind. ‘ It is safe now — you can run.’ 

Bruce ran in the direction the German had 
taken, his feet, on which he wore the rope 
alpargatas of the Spanish peasant, making 
no sound. Very soon he sighted his quarry, 
walking stolidly towards the sea. But instead 
of going straight down to the tiny rock- 
encircled port where the fishermen of Soller 
moor their boats, the German presently turned 
from the main road and followed a track 
which led up on to the cliffs, away from the 
town. Bruce dropped his guiding-paper, and 
as they left the lights behind, drew nearer to 
his man. 

For a couple of miles the German walked 
along a rough byroad which became little 
more than a mule-track ; then he struck off 


40 


GREY FISH. 


the track altogether, and made straight across 
a terraced vineyard on the hillside in the 
direction of the Mediterranean. It was so 
dark that Bruce had little hope of El Pajarillo 
observing any guiding signs; but, in con- 
formity with his instructions, he scattered 
several pieces of paper at the edge of the 
mule-track, and then laid a thin, straight line 
of them in the direction taken by the German. 

Suddenly the cliff dropped away at his feet. 
He had come to a steep cleft running inland 
from the sea for several hundred yards. The 
secret agent had disappeared down the rugged 
face of the cleft. Searching about in the 
darkness, which the faint light of the rising 
moon was beginning to make less dense, the 
Scot found a practicable descent, and with 
infinite caution began to go down. He 
reached the foot of the cliff and the sea-beach 
with less difficulty than he had anticipated, 
and found himself on a tiny stretch of white 
sand. Of his man there was for the moment 
no sign. 

Bruce crouched still and listened. There 
was no sound but the sighing of the little 
waves along the rocky shore. He realised 
that to leave the shadow of the cliff would be 
to risk detection. For what seemed a long 
time he kept silent in the shelter of the chff 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


41 


The moonlight strengthened gradually, and 
at length Bruce crept to the margin of the 
shadow, and held his watch in the light to 
see the time. It was past eleven. 

He was creeping back to the cliffside, 
when the firm grasp of a hand on his arm 
made him start violently. Next moment, 
with profound astonishment, he recognised 
his Catalan companion. A whisper came in 
his ear: ‘Por Dios, Senor Bruce, we shall 
have good hunting to-night 1 Do you know 
the caves of Manacor ? ’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘ They are on the other side of Mallorca — 
great stalactite caverns that go far under the 
shore. Every Mallorquin knows of them ; but 
few know that there is also such a cave within 
an hour of Soller. This Frankenfest is clever ! 
Never mind. Set a thief to catch a thief, and 
an old smuggler to catch a secret agent. Now, 
listen to me. We have nothing more to do 
but to wait here in the shadow till this fellow’s 
confederates come ashore. Then we must do 
what we can to preserve the neutrality of 
Spain, and earn our five thousand pesetas. 
The cave is a little way up the gully yonder. 
A signal flashed in the gully can be seen only 
from the sea. Do you watch the gully, while 
I watch the water.’ 


42 


GREY FISH. 


They watched steadily for half-an-hour. 

Suddenly the glare of an electric torch 
shone down the gully so powerfully that the 
two men crouched low against the bottom of 
the cliff. The beam was shut off. Within 
a few seconds there was a red light visible 
far to seaward, which vanished almost imme- 
diately. Then three short flashes from the 
gully were answered by thi'ee red flashes from 
the water, and darkness fell again. 

‘ This bit of sand is the only landing-place 
for miles,’ muttered the smuggler. 

Another half-hour of waiting passed. Then, 
above the faint plash of the wavelets, they 
caught the low, rhythmic sound of oars work- 
ing in muffled rowlocks. A boat, all painted 
white, even to the oars, with sailors dressed 
also in white, appeared suddenly on the sea, 
close to the shore. 

The Little Bird gave a low chuckle. ‘ By 
night all cats are grey,’ he quoted. ‘ But cats 
in a white fur show least in a faint light 
against the sea. Oh, these fellows are no 
fools, Senor Bruce.’ 

The white boat grounded on the white 
sand, and as she did so the stout figure of 
Frankenfest emerged from the gully. He 
shook hands with the officer of the boat, which 
contained half-a-dozen men. The whole party. 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 


48 


with the exception of one man, immediately 
walked up the beach and entered the gully. 

^Hombre!' muttered the Catalan; ‘we 
could not have arranged it better ourselves. 
Can you run ? ’ 

‘ I used to run for my college a few years 
back,’ said the Scot. ‘ Shall we rush that 
fellow in the boat ? ’ 

‘Precisely. It is five hundred yards from 
the cave, and a roughish path. But I warn 
you, Senor Bruce, they may shoot.’ 

‘ They may miss,’ said the Scot. 

‘ Bravo I You can pull an oar ? ’ 

‘ Pretty well.’ 

‘ Bueno ! See ! the boatman is looking sea- 
wards. When they are right into the gully, 
we shall run like the wind for that boat. The 
first there will deal with the man, and the 
other will seize the oars and pull for the point 
of the bluff yonder. It is only a few hundred 
yards, and then we shall be out of range round 
the corner. Coraje ! Are you ready ? ’ 

‘ Ready ! ’ 

‘ Then go I ’ 

Like two dogs loosed on a hare, the com- 
panions raced forward across the narrow stretch 
of sand. The younger man was leading by 
half-a-dozen yards when they reached the boat, 
and not till he sprang over the gunwale did 


44 


GREY FISH. 


the German sailor in the stern become aware 
of their presence. He turned with a wild 
shout; but before he could put hand to weapon 
Bruce was on him, knocking him backward 
over the thwart with a lightning blow between 
the eyes. The Scot fell on top of his man as 
the boat, already three parts in the water, 
was shoved off by the lusty arms of the old 
smuggler. Pajarillo tumbled, dripping, aboard, 
and in a moment had seized the oars and was 
thrusting seawards with swift, strong strokes. 

‘ Get down low, and take the tiller ! ’ cried 
the Catalan, though he himself stood fearlessly 
in his gaunt height, working the oars. 

Bruce was obeying, when the stunned Ger- 
man, recovering from his knock-down blow, 
sat up. ‘ Kamerad! ’ he gasped. 

‘ Kamerads all ashore 1 ’ retorted the Scot 
dourly, and without more ado he tipped the 
man bodily over the side into the sea. 

Urged by the smuggler’s nervy arms, the 
boat was making progress towards the bluff. 
Out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw the 
crew come running to the water’s edge. A 
revolver cracked, and a white splinter flew 
from one of the oars. The revolver cracked 
again, and Bruce felt his left arm, holding the 
tiller, go numb. He shifted to his right. 

‘ Faster 1 Faster, Pajarillo ! ’ he cried. 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLEB. 


45 


More shots followed, flying wide, and the 
Catalan’s breath came hard as he leaned to 
and fro to his work. 

Far out to sea a shaft of light swung round 
the horizon. 

Donald Bruce was feeling horribly faint. 
He pulled himself together. He saw the 
German seamen run along the shore, and 
heard the revolver-shots cracking again. But 
out to sea he saw the shaft of light fasten on 
a dark object lying low in the water. A 
moment later a dull, angry boom thundered 
over the sea. Another, and another. A livid 
sheet of flame, red and green and yellow, shot 
upward from the end of the beam. Then the 
sea swallowed the flame, and the beam was 
gone. ' 

‘ Good hunting, by the Lord, Pajarillo ! ’ 
cried Bruce, and rolled senseless across the 
tiller. 

When Bruce came to himself a man in 
a blue uniform, with gold braid on it, was 
watching him with an agreeable expression. 
The Scot recognised the surgeon of the 
French destroyer. 

‘ Monsieur,’ said the surgeon, ‘ I have here 
some excellent bouillon' 

‘ Where is El Paj Where is my 

friend ? ’ said Bruce. 


46 


OBEY FISH. 


‘ Your friend is taking supper with our 
commander, who has opened a bottle of the 
best, but unfortunately cannot speak Spanish. 
Permit me to say that you nearly lost your 
arm. How many Boches are there ashore 
yonder ? ’ 

‘ Seven, with the officer.’ 

‘ It was fortunate for them that you took 
their boat,’ said the surgeon grimly. 

‘ And their ship ? ’ asked Bruce. 

‘ La bos ! ’ said the surgeon, pointing through 
the floor. ‘ We have just sent a wireless to 
the capitania general at Palma, informing the 
authorities, with our compliments, that a band 
of German sailors are waiting at Seller to be 
interned.’ 

A few days later the confidential clerk to 
M'llroy, M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister came out of 
the firm’s private office. He was immaculately 
dressed, but his left arm was in a sling. Beside 
him, smoking a puro of the best, walked the 
brown -faced old contrabandista called the 
Little Bird. The Little Bird was putting a 
wad of notes carefully inside his red Robes- 
pierre cap. 

‘Ten thousand pesetas — not a bad week’s 
work, mi Pajarillo ? ’ smiled Bruce as he shook 
hands. 


THE AGENCY AT SOLLER. 47 

‘ Excellent, senor. I confess that this busi- 
ness interests me. Between you and me, I 
have made up my mind to accept the offer of 
your honourable house, to continue in this line 
for a time. I have been a spendthrift fellow, 
but if I could make up twenty thousand 
pesetas to provide for my family — I have 
a large family, Senor Bruce, and my poor 
brother Pedro’s orphans are also on my hands 
— I should face the future with a better heart. 
Permit me to say that I am proud to be 
associated with a man of business who is also 
a poet, like yourself.’ 

‘ Life is full of poetry, if one views it from 
the proper angle,’ said Bruce sententiously. 

‘ I shall endeavour to compose a few verses 
on our week’s work, senor,’ said the Catalan 
with perfect gravity. ‘You, I venture to 
hope, will do the same. And as soon as I 
discover another suitable subject for a com- 
position, I shall communicate with you 
without delay.’ 

‘The sooner the better. Little Bird,’ said 
Bruce. 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


I, 


> his tired mule stumbled wearily up the 



arid gorge towards the lowering sun, El 
Pajarillo almost wished he had kept to simple 
contraband, and never gone in for this wild 
business of hunting for U-boat supply bases. 

Though it was the middle of September, 
the sun aU day had been merciless, and the 
barren grey peaks of the Sierra were still 
bathed in a mist of heat. Now the mist was 
turning to a ruby tint in the west, where 
Granada lay. 

At the head of the gorge a jagged, rocky 
hill stood sharply against the ruddy west. A 
ruined castle crowned its height, and on the 
side of the hill, just below, El Pajarillo knew 
there was a spring. He did not quite like the 
look of the sky, and as it was clear he could 
not reach Granada that night, he resolved, 
though with some misgivings, to camp in the 
ruin. 

The mule objected to climb the hill, but the 
Little Bird knew that a mule objects to every- 
thing on principle, and his own arguments 
were so much to the point that while the sun 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


49 


was still above the sky-line he had got his beast 
stabled in a sheltered corner of the ruin, and 
had drawn water for himself and it. Of pro- 
visions he had good store, for no Spanish 
traveller of experience trusts to luck for a 
supper. The Little Bird chmbed up the 
crumbling stairway of an old tower, and sat 
down by the parapet to eat his meal. 

Sitting there, he commanded what the 
guide-books would call a magnificent pano- 
rama. East and west, north and south of 
him, the rugged Sierra, burnt brown by the 
blaze of summer heat, reared its naked rocks 
against the sky. It had been a painful ordeal 
for man and beast to endure the noonday heat 
of those deep defiles and steep brown slopes. 
Yet the cautious investigations of several 
weeks had convinced Bruce and himself that 
somewhere among those defiles, just off the 
road between Motril and Granada, the object 
of their search must lie. 

Suddenly El Pajarillo started. Out of the 
mountainous desert a cavalcade was advanc- 
ing. He crouched lower behind the parapet, 
and watched. The horsemen came on very 
deliberately. He counted thirteen of them — 
a large company to be in such a spot. They 
all wore the ordinary dress of the Andalusian 
countryman — wide felt hats, sliort coats, 

D 


50 


GREY FISH. 


hitched over one shoulder on account of the 
heat, and about their middles sashes of red or 
black. The Little Bird watched them put 
their horses to the hill, and advance towards 
the old ruin. He then noticed that one of the 
riders was blindfolded. 

They made a circuit round the hill as they 
came up, and so approached the castle on the 
side opposite that to which El Pajarillo had 
come. A projection of the ground hid them 
as they got nearer, and he waited for them to 
reappear. But they did not. 

The Little Bird was not superstitious, but 
he had heard — as what Spaniard has not? — 
grandfathers’ tales about enchanted castles, 
the treasure-stores of vanished Moors, which 
hold in their secret grasp spell-bound men 
and horses, that come out once in a long 
while to entrap the unwary to their doom. 
He felt that the hour and the place were 
uncanny. 

Descending from the tower, he went cau- 
tiously down the hill to the spot where he had 
last seen the horsemen. They were not there. 
Searching about, however, among the great 
rocks on which the old castle had been raised, 
he found a cleft, and following this, he presently 
caught the sound of voices, till suddenly, at 
the turn of a corner, he came full upon the 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 51 

assembly. A tall man, with a bright-red sash 
about his waist, and a flower stuck in his hat, 
sprang forward and gripped him by the arm, 
while half-a-dozen threatening faces, and as 
many revolver-barrels, were directed towards 
him. 

‘ What is this, and who are you, old spy ? ’ 
demanded the man who held him. 

The Little Bird was taken entirely by 
surprise, and his acute intelligence could not 
fail to observe that there was an element of 
danger in his position, the more especially as 
he perceived with a shock that the blindfolded 
man in the midst of the gioup was no other 
than his young Scots ernployer, Donald Bruce. 
It did not take him many seconds to make up 
his mind that the strict truth was inappropriate 
to the occasion. 

‘I am Juliano Mercedes de Mendez y 
Nunez, senor, a poor arriero on my way to 
Granada to my wife and family.’ 

‘ Your wife and family are to be pitied,’ said 
the man, ‘for I fear they are about to lose 
you. What are you doing here ? ’ 

‘ Wishing I were somewhere else, by St 
Jago, gentlemen ! But it serves me right for 
taking a road I did not know. I left Motril, 
on the coast, this morning, and as I was in 
a hurry, I thought I would take a short cut 


52 


GREY FISH. 


through the Sierra. Ay de mi! The shortest 
cut is always the longest way round ! ’ 

‘ An arrierOi comrades, do you hear ? ’ The 
man with the flower turned to his companions. 

‘ What shall be done with him ? ’ 

‘Are you courageous?’ asked another of 
the band. 

‘ Our family have never been cowards, 
senor,’ replied the Little Bird with mettle. 

‘Well, we shall see,’ said the cavalier. 
‘Stand still, brave arriero, while I shoot at 
you.’ 

Following the word with the deed, he 
pointed his revolver in the direction of El 
Pajarillo, and fired off all five chambers in 
quick succession. The Little Bird’s heart 
came, as they say, into his mouth, and he 
abandoned himself for lost, as the reports rang 
out, and the bullets slapped the rock on every 
side of him. When the firing ceased, and 
he found himself still alive and apparently 
unhurt, he was even more surprised than 
relieved. 

‘ Why, that ’s not so bad ! ’ laughed the 
marksman. ‘ I have known stifFer- looking 
fellows than you who would have been jigging 
finely to that tune.’ 

‘ Gentlemen,’ said the Little Bird earnestly, 
‘ I beg you to have the courtesy not to kill me.’ 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


53 


* As to that there is more than one word to 
be said,’ observed he with the flower. ‘ You 
muleteers are too talkative to be safe.’ 

‘ I assure your worships,’ pleaded El Pajarillo, 
‘ that if you will be so kind as to permit me to 
live, my adventure of to-night will remain 
locked in my heart. To this I pledge piy 
honour.’ 

The horsemen burst out laughing. 

‘ The honour of an arriero ! ’ exclaimed one. 
‘ Are we to hang our lives on the honour of a 
muleteer ? ’ 

‘ I have it ! ’ cried the man who had first 
seized El Pajarillo. ‘We will give the 
fellow charge of this cursed Englishman, and 
he shall take him back for us to Granada, 
and leave him at the point from which he 
started.’ 

‘ Oye, Danielo, bravo 1 ’ cried the rest. 

‘An Englishman?’ said El Pajarillo, with 
well -simulated hesitation. ‘ I confess I do 
not like Englishmen. They are the devil to 
fight, and I have nothing but my knife.’ 

‘You shall have a pistol,’ said Danielo. 
‘ Make him ride just in front of you, and at 
the first attempt he makes to escape, or to 
remove the bandage from his eyes, you will 
blow out his brains. But when you come to 
the road you had better leave him to shift for 


54 


GREY FISH. 


himself, lest he should know you again and 
make trouble.’ 

‘My mule is dead-beat,’ the Little Bird 
objected. ‘ And I am not much better 
myself.’ 

‘ It is only three leagues to Granada,’ said 
the leader. ‘ We shall give your mule a good 
feed of corn, and yourself a good drink of 
wine, and you will ride like the Cid. As for 
the Englishman, the more tired he is, the 
easier he will be to manage.’ 

‘ Very well,’ said the Little Bird resignedly. 
‘What must be, must be, senores. I am in 
your hands.’ 

No time was lost in carrying out the 
arrangement. The blindfolded man was led 
out on his horse by a couple of his captors, 
and a third man brought a feed of corn for El 
Pajarillo’s mule, which proved quite ready for 
a second supper. The Little Bird took a pull 
at the wine they proffered him, and fervently 
praised its quality. 

‘ You had better be off,’ said the man with 
the flower. ‘ It will be dark very soon. 
Follow this gorge till you are across the ridge 
of the Sierra, and then hold north-westwards 
as straight as you can make your way. You 
will come out on the road in an hour’s ride. 
Vaya con Dios ! ’ 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


55 


11 . 

The Little Bird and his prisoner rode off 
together up the gorge. ‘ Pig of an English- 
man,’ said El Pajarillo in a loud and threaten- 
ing voice as they drew away, ‘ if you so much 
as lift your hand, I will be the death of you 1 ’ 
In a low tone he added, ‘ Senor Bruce, I beg 
you to ride quietly till we put a turn of the 
gorge between us and these gentry. After 
that we will talk.’ 

After about a mile, a shoulder of hill 
shut them off from view of the ruin, and 
the Little Bird drew bridle. ‘ Permit me 
to release you, Senor Bruce,’ said he. 
‘Those villains have made you very uncom- 
fortable.’ He whipped out his knife, and 
in a trice had his companion free. The 
Scot slid off his horse, and sat down on the 
ground. 

‘ You will find some food and drink in my 
saddle-bag, Pajarillo,’ said he. ‘ When I have 
had something to eat and drink, and got back 
some feeling in my limbs, we will get on with 
our business.’ 

‘ Dios / ’ commented the old smuggler. ‘ Y ou 
are not easily upset, companero. But I would 
beg you to observe that these fellows are 
twelve to two, and they are all armed, and 


56 


GREY FISH. 


have not so much conscience among them as 
a flea.’ 

‘On the other hand, they have a hundred 
gallons at least of petrol and oil which they 
have brought with them from the city; and 
Heaven only knows how many hundred more 
there may be in the secret store which they 
have been making here in the mountains. 
That fellow with the flower in his hat, 
Danielo, is a leading rascal in the service of 
the German Consulate. It has cost me a 
fortnight of risky work in Granada to get on 
the track of this store, Pajarillo mio, and we 
are not going to let it slip through our fingers 
now. If you have carried out your part of 
the bargain, it is certain that there is no 
considerable store at Motril.’ 

‘ There is nothing at Motril, senor. The 
Customs there are afraid of the Government’s 
new regulations. All they can be got to do 
is to look the other way when the riders bring 
the stores to the shore at night. I know it 
from a sure source.’ 

‘Your information coincides with mine, 
Little Bird. I rode out of Granada this 
afternoon on the track of these fellows, hoping 
to run them to earth. But though I kept a 
long way behind, they were too sharp for me. 
Soon after we had left the road half-a-dozen 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


57 


of them jumped on me as I turned a corner, 
and had me fast before I could put finger to 
trigger.’ 

The smuggler nodded. ‘That was lucky 
for you. If you had resisted, they would 
certainly have killed you. As it was, they 
probably desired to save themselves the trouble 
of awkward inquiries, in case you had left 
word of your destination. It would not suit 
the German Consulate to have trouble with 
the Government over a murdered Englishman. 
We Spaniards are very jealous of our neutrality, 
Senor Bruce.’ Pajarillo winked solemnly. ‘ To 
all appearances you are as good a Spaniard 
as the rest of us, senor, but this Danielo must 
have got wind of your investigations.’ 

‘ No,’ said the Scot. ‘ I am not so clumsy 
as that, Pajarillo. But unfortunately when 
the villains seized me they searched me, and 
by ill-luck I had one of my firm’s business- 
cards upon me, which gave me away.’ 

‘Never mind,’ said the older man. ‘We 
shall get even with Danielo yet. What do 
you propose to do, Senor Bruce ? ’ 

‘ I am going back to where we left them, 
and I am going to find that store before I 
leave.’ 

‘ In that case I am coming with you,’ said 
the Little Bird. ‘ For I have no wish to lose 


58 


GREY FISH. 


my reward at the hands of your firm. But 
first, with your permission, I will take the 
animals farther on, for if they should make 
a noise here it will be heard. In twenty 
minutes I shall be back with you, Senor Bruce. 
By that time your stiffness will have passed 
off’ 

He rode away in the quickly gathering 
darkness, and the young Scot lit his pipe, and 
lay smoking, trying to think out a plan of 
operations. He smoked out his pipe, and 
El Pajarillo had not returned. 

Suddenly his ear caught the sound of hoofs. 
It was quite dark now save for the faint light 
of a crescent moon. Bruce crept into the 
deep shadow of a rock and lay waiting. Up 
the gorge, in the direction he and his com- 
panion had but lately followed, a line of riders 
came in view. They passed within twenty 
yards of him, and he recognised the voices 
of his late captors, in particular the voice of 
Danielo. 

‘ We will separate after we cross the ridge,’ 
Danielo was saying. ‘ If any of you see the 
Englishman or the arriero on the way to the 
city, you should avoid him. Meet me to- 
morrow by the Alhambra fountain, and I will 
pay you your money.’ 

The cavalcade passed on. Bruce counted 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 59 

them as they passed. The full dozen were 
there. He waited, but El Pajarillo did not 
return. Suppose the Catalan should encounter 
the gang on his way back 1 

Bruce could do nothing to warn the Little 
Bird, and with swift decision he realised that 
he must act for himself, and prosecute his 
mission alone. He could not afford to risk 
tlie possibility that the Little Bird’s capture 
might entail his own. The worst of it was 
that, having been blindfolded, he did not know 
exactly what he was to look for. Nevertheless, 
he must make a beginning, so he set off to 
walk down the gorge, judging the distance he 
must go by the pace at which he and the Little 
Bird had ascended. 

Even in the uncertain moonlight Bruce 
could hardly miss the old ruin on its height. 
Somewhere here, for a surety, was the secret 
store, to discover which he was wandering 
about the Sierra at midnight. But this con- 
clusion carried him very little nearer success, 
for the ruin was large. With the aid of an 
electric flash-lamp, of which his late captors 
had not troubled to deprive him, he peered 
into this corner and that, under crumbling 
walls and broken archways, and from time to 
time descended into subterranean chambers, 
half- choked with rubble, and sheltering scores 


60 


GREY FISH. 


of bats. For all the success that attended his 
efforts, he might as well have been searching 
for the crown jewels of King Boabdil. At 
length he wearily desisted, and began to retrace 
his steps, intending to pass the rest of the night 
in the old tower, and continue after sunrise 
the search for his lost comrade and the hidden 
stores. 

Suddenly a familiar odour caught the Scot’s 
nostrils. He was passing, though he did not 
know it, the mouth of the cleft in which El 
Pajarillo had had his adventure with the 
night-riders. The smell was unmistakable — 
petrol 1 

Down the passage went Bruce, following 
its turnings, till it burrowed under a broken 
stone doorway into subterranean blackness. 
The place had a forbidding look, but the smell 
of spirit was more noticeable than before, and, 
electric torch in hand, the young man plunged 
into the gloom. The passage still ran on, con- 
tinually descending, till Bruce wondered at 
the system of ventilation which kept the air 
sweet so far below-ground. At last the floor 
dropped away before his feet, and flashing his 
lamp downwards, he beheld a winding stair- 
way descending into the bowels of the eartli. 
Comparing the place with other Moorish ruins 
of his acquaintance, he decided that this grim 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


61 


descent was the means by which the old 
castle, when beleaguered, obtained its water ; 
and, with an involuntary shudder at the fate 
of the wretched slaves who must have toiled 
for their Moorish masters to make this deep 
and hidden stair, the Scot went cautiously 
down the worn, steep steps. He counted a 
hundred of them, and then the stairway ended 
in a rock chamber, half-natural, half-artificially 
hewn. Here the smell of spirit was all-per- 
vading. 

Bruce chuckled. He had found what he 
sought. All down one side of the chamber 
were ranged a number of large metal tanks, 
each with a capacity of several hundred 
gallons. A few minutes’ examination sufficed 
to show him that nearly all were full. 

With pulses beating hard, he stood and con- 
sidered what to do. To open the tanks was 
an easy matter, and he had matches with him, 
but you cannot set fire to a couple of thousand 
gallons of petrol in a confined space with any 
degree of personal safety. Donald Bruce, 
however, was a young man not easily turned 
aside from his purpose, and he was quite deter- 
mined that that spirit should be destroyed. 

An idea occurred to him. Its execution 
would be risky, but he must chance it. 

With the thriftiness characteristic of his 


62 


GEEY FISH. 


race, he had put in his pocket the cords from 
which El Pajarillo had lately released him. 
He took them out, and found that their total 
length just sufficed to reach from the nearest 
tank to the foot of the stone stairs. By tear- 
ing his handkerchief and the lining of his coat 
into narrow strips, he gained another dozen 
yards. He made a continuous line of the 
whole, opened the tanks, dipped the line in 
spirit, and laid the sodden train from the 
nearest tank to the stairs, and as far up as it 
would reach. Then, gathering his strength 
for a sprint up the steps, he applied a match 
to the end of the train, and, torch in hand, 
fled for dear life. 

He had reached the head of the stairs, and 
was racing up the underground passage, when 
the roar of the conflagration shook the earth 
beneath him, and a rush of hot air swept by 
him. Half-choked with the reek, and labour- 
ing at the ascent, he fled on, thankful for the 
turns in the passage, till, almost at the end 
of his endurance, he saw the silvery crescent 
of the moon, and felt the fresh night-air on 
his wet face. Staggering, exhausted, haunted 
with a vision of pursuing flame, Bruce reeled a 
few yards farther, and flung himself, fainting, 
into a hollow among the broken masonry of 
the ruin. 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


63 


III. 

When the Scot came to himself he saw a 
strange sight. In the space near the opening 
of the cleft — from which heavy volumes of 
smoke were still rolling out — the bravos of the 
German Consulate were gathered on horse- 
back in a circle round one, also on horseback, 
who sat with his hands fast bound. -Beside 
the bound man was Danielo, the leader, hold- 
ing a flaming torch, which threw its flickering 
light on the group. Bruce recognised in the 
captive his companion adventurer, and saw 
that the Little Bird’s mule, without a rider, 
was also there. El Pajarillo had a bandage 
about his head, and Danielo and another 
member of the group had their arms in slings. 

‘ You admit,’ Danielo was saying, ‘that you 
were in league with that spying Englishman 
to And out the store which has cost so much 
care and expense to prepare and conceal.’ 

‘I admit nothing, countryman,’ answered 
the Little Bird boldly, ‘ save that I am very 
glad to know that the store is destroyed. It 
is well known to every one of you that our 
Government has most strictly enjoined that 
no such stores are to be made, and that the 
provisioning of submarines is a serious offence 
against our laws.’ 


64 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Hold your tongue I ’ ordered Danielo. ‘ We 
have not brought you here to preach a sermon 
to us. We are going to finish with you. 
— What say you, comrades ? ’ 

‘Yes, kill him! Kill the spy!’ cried the 
gang. 

‘ You hear ? ’ said Danielo, raising his torch, 
and looking at the prisoner with an ugly grin. 
‘ While you live, senor muleteer, not one of 
us is safe. You must certainly die.’ 

The old smuggler raised his bandaged head 
proudly. ‘ Kill me, then,’ said he. ‘ To every 
pig his Martinmas. I am not afraid.’ 

‘ If there is any message you wish to send 
to your family,’ said Danielo, ‘we will find 
means to let them know that you have met 
with an accident.’ 

‘ Cowards and murderers ! ’ exclaimed the 
captive ; ‘ I would not trust a message to such 
trash as you. Do your worst. I defy you ! 
But know that I am no muleteer. Pablo el 
Pajarillo is my name. You will find it is well 
known in our Spanish ports. My friends, and 
the Englishman who knows them, will see 
that I am avenged ! ’ 

At the name of the famous contrabandista 
several members of the rascally group ex- 
changed glances. But Danielo’s smile became 
more forbidding as he turned away to consult 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


65 


his companions. Presently he returned to 
the captive’s side. 

‘ If you are indeed the Little Bird,’ he said, 

‘ it is the more necessary that you should die. 
But so that none of us may be accused of 
your death, we have thought of a plan which 
will interest you. See, Pajarillo, here is your 
own mule, and the horse of the Englishman. 
We will put two nooses about your neck. 
The end of one we will fasten to your mule, 
and the end of the other to the horse of your 
friend. We will then take our leave of you, 
and heaven in its wisdom shall decide whether 
the mule or the horse shall have the honour of 
strangling Senor Pablo el Pajarillo. In any 
case, the suspicion of your death, if your 
corpse is discovered, will lie at the door of 
the Englishman. Do you not think that a 
famous idea?’ The villain chuckled at his 
own ingenuity. 

‘A very proper scheme for such a set of 
hired ruffians,’ said the old Catalan stoutly. 
‘ Who is that behind you ? ’ 

The riders started, and turned suddenly in 
their saddles. 

El Pajarillo laughed aloud. ‘Fear not, 
chicken-hearts 1 ’ he reviled them. ‘There is 
no one there, unless it be your master, the 
Devil, watching for your souls.’ 


66 


GREY FISH. 


Danielo, furious at the trick, struck him in 
the face. A couple of the riders then dis- 
mounted, and under a hail of taunts from the 
bold old veteran, took him from the horse, 
tied his feet, and further secured his arms. 
Then they made a couple of running nooses, 
and having set them about his neck sufficiently 
tightly to ensure that, bound as he was, he 
could not disengage himself, they brought up 
his mule and Bruce’s horse, and made fast 
the free ends of the cords above the animals’ 
knees. 

‘Buenos noches, Senor Pajarillol’ said 
Danielo with a mocking bow. ‘ The English- 
man’s horse is the fresher, and I should prefer 
to bet on him, though your mule has a spiteful 
look. Adios ! ’ 

The dismounted men sprang to their saddles, 
and with cruel laughter the whole troop trotted 
off into the night. 

Donald Bruce, his knife open in his hand, 
had been lying in his shelter waiting for that 
moment. Ere the last rider had disappeared 
he crept out, and ran swiftly to the old 
smuggler, and next moment had cut the peril- 
ous cords. Not an instant too soon, for both 
animals, starting off, as might have been ex- 
pected, to follow the rest, had already dragged 
the nooses tight, and the Little Bird was in 


THE SECRET OF THE SIERRA. 


67 


the agonies of suffocation. It was some 
minutes before he could speak ; but when the 
Scot had freed him, he sat gripping his rescuer’s 
hand in a vice-like clasp. 

In a few hurried sentences Bruce made him 
acquainted with what had occurred since they 
had parted on the hillside. ‘ Little Bird, Little 
Bird,’ said he, ‘I was afraid you had flown 
your last flight. But you and I will have 
more work together yet 1 ’ 

The Catalan made a wry face. ‘ To-morrow,’ 
he spluttered, ‘ we will go to the Alhambra 
fountain, and see these villains take their pay 
for to-night’s business. It will do us both 
good.’ 


GREY FISH. 


I. 

I T was scorching hot in the pleasant city of 
Malaga. The Southern sun beat fiercely 
down upon the whitewashed houses of the 
port, and from the wide streets of the new 
town the glare was flung back in the faces of 
the perspiring few who for their sins had to 
be abroad in the hour of siesta. True, there 
was a wind, which flecked with white the blue 
bay from the point of Los Cantales on the 
east to the old tower of Pimentel on the west ; 
but it was the terral, that rare torment from 
the north-west which so irritates man and 
beast that the courts of law account it an 
extenuating circumstance in cases of crime. 

Even in the spacious cellars of MTlroy, 
M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister the atmosphere was 
highly charged with excitability. 

Donald Bruce, the firm’s confidential clerk, 
carefully poured wine into a glass on the table 
before him, and passed it to his companion. 
‘ Little Bird,’ said he, ‘ I think this is the 
hottest day I have ever known in Malaga.’ 

The old contrabandista nodded, and set 
the glass to his lips. It was Lagrimas, the 


GREY FISH. 


09 


sweetest and most delicious of all the wines 
of Malaga — the very ‘ tears ’ or droppings of 
the ripe grape hung up and dried in the sun, 
and obtained without pressure — but it did not 
remove the frown from his brown lined face. 

‘Very true, Senor Bruce. Mdlaga is too 
hot for me,’ he answered. 

The young Scot gave his friend a keen 
glance. He perceived that when the old 
Catalan said Malaga was too hot he was not 
complaining of the terral. ‘What’s amiss, 
Little Bird ? ’ he inquired. 

The Spaniard glanced to right and left, as 
though he feared lest the rows of casks in 
these cool vaults might have ears, and lowered 
his voice. ‘You remember that submarine 
which we — which met with an accident off 
Soller two months ago ? ’ 

The young man smiled. ‘ I have good 
cause to,’ said he, raising the arm which had 
been penetrated by a German bullet in the 
course of that adventure. ‘ I wonder how 
the Herr Leutnant and his gang are enjoying 
their internment in the beautiful Balearics.’ 

Pajarillo’s frown deepened. ‘As for the 
gang, I do not know ; but as for the lieu- 
tenant, he is not enjoying it at all, Senor 
Bruce, for I met him this morning on the 
Alameda.’ 


70 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Dios f You met him here in Malaga ? ’ 
‘Precisely. And what is more, he knew 
me again. The rascal has escaped. We had 
some conversation.’ 

Bruce grinned. ‘I wish I had seen the 
meeting and heard the conversation.’ 

‘ Oh, as for the conversation, you may hear 
it now, senorito mio. He was sitting outside 
the Caf^ Coldn, reading the when I 

passed. He got up quietly and came after 
me — he was, of course, in civilian dress — and 
he patted me on the shoulder. I turned 
round and said, “ How are you, senoi' 
tenienteV' He gave me a wicked look out 
of his eyes — he has little savage eyes like a 
pig, colour of mahogany, and when he is angry 
it is as if he had sparks in them — and he said, 
“You cursed hireling, do not think I have 
forgotten you ? One day I hope to have the 
pleasure of hanging you with my own hands. 
Germany has her eye on you, you dog ! ” said 
he. Oh, he spoke quite gently. The people 
in the “ Coldn ” might have supposed he was 
inquiring after my health.’ 

Bruce sipped his Lagrimas, ‘And what 
did you say, Pajarillo ? ’ 

‘ Well, senor, I fear I lost my temper a little 
bit, though I hope I did not show it. You 
see, I do not like the Germans. As you 


GREY FISH. 


71 


know, they drowned my poor brother Pedro. 
“You ugly, swaggering devil-fish,” I said, “I 
have my eye on Germany, too. And though 
it is not a pretty sight,” I said, “ I find it a 
profitable pastime.” Just then a civil guard 
came walking dovm the Alameda. I saw that 
our teniente had noticed him too, so I thought 
I would treat myself to a little amusement. 
“ And how did you like the climate of Mal- 
lorca ? ” I said. He gave me a frightful scowl, 
and opened his coat a little way, and I saw an 
iron cross pinned upon his vest. “ That is 
what I won by escaping,” says he ; “ and if you 
attempt to speak to this policeman, you dog ! 
I will shoot you where you stand, though I 
am arrested the next moment.” He put his 
hand in his pocket as he spoke, and, for all I 
know, he may have had a pistol there. I could 
have thrown him on the ground, and explained 
things afterwards to the guard ; but, after all, 
the man has courage, and I did not wish to 
make a scene, especially as my name is no 
great recommendation to the police, senor. 
So, while the guard passed, I stood telling 
our teniente what fine, hospitable people our 
Mallorquins are, and what a pity it was he 
had not stayed to enjoy their hospitality a 
little longer, and what a pleasant time his 
friends must be having in the island. And 


72 


GREY FISH. 


when the danger was past, he cursed me again 
heartily, and went back to finish his drink, 
and I went on my way up the Alameda. 
But now you understand why Mdlaga is not 
very healthy for me just now.’ 

The Scot nodded appreciation of the point. 
Just then there was a knock at the closed door 
of the cellar, and an employee of the firm 
entered. ‘A gentleman to see you, Senor 
Bruce,’ said he. 

Bruce looked up quickly. ‘ Has the gentle- 
man an artificial leg ? ’ 

‘ Si, senor' 

‘ And a scar on his face ? ’ 

^ Si, semr, an ugly scar. He speaks no 
Spanish, and I understood him with difficulty.’ 

‘ Bring him down here,’ said Bruce. 

When the clerk had gone he turned to 
his companion. ‘ Pajarillo mio, this is very 
opportune. How would you like a trip to 
the Canaries ? In that case Germany would 
not have her eye on you for a few weeks ; 
while, on the other hand, you would be able 
to keep your eye on Germany just as well as 
in the Mediterranean, and you might be able 
to put another five thousand pesetas to that 
bank account which you are accumulating for 
your family in case anything should happen 
to you.’ 


GREY FISH. 


78 


The frown cleared swiftly from the old 
smuggler’s face, and he helped himself to 
another cigar from a box on the table. 
‘They say the submarines are playing hell’s 
delight round about the Canaries, senorito,’ 
said he. 

‘ So I have read in the papers,’ answered the 
Scot. ‘This gentleman, whom you will see 
presently, is a very fine fellow. He is a 
Shetlander. Have you ever heard of the 
Shetland Islands, Little Bird ? ’ 

‘ They are half-way to the North Pole, are 
they not ? ’ 

‘Well, they lie in that direction,’ smiled 
Bruce. ‘Cold and rocky, bare and stormy, 
they are. Br-r-r ! But the men that live 
there, Pajarillo, are among the finest sailors 
God ever made. This one, whom you can 
hear hobbling downstairs, was the captain of 
a trawler — one of those splendid fellows who 
have been helping our navy to sweep the 
seas clean for honest folk to trade in ever 
since this bad business began. Owing to a 

misunderstanding with a mine ’ 

At this moment the cellar door opened 
again, and the young Scot, springing from his 
seat, ran to greet the new-comer, shook him 
warmly by the hand, and led him to the table. 
‘ I told them to bring you straight down here. 


74 


GREY FISH. 


captain,’ he said. ‘ It ’s cool, and we can talk 
quietly. Let me introduce my friend : Captain 
Angus — Senor Pablo Pajarillo. What do you 
take, captain ? ’ 

With a curt nod to the Spaniard, the 
Shetlander limped to the proffered seat — a 
broad - shouldered, weather - tanned seaman, 
whose honest, bearded face was marred by 
a grim scar on one side reaching from temple 
to chin. When he spoke, his Northern speech 
might have puzzled an Englishman. ‘ There ’s 
no Boar-rd o’ Control in these latitudes,’ said 
he, ‘ so gin ye hae sic a thing, I ’ll be takin’ a 
wee drap whusky.’ 

Bruce fetched it, and rejoined them at the 
table. ‘It’s odd you should have called just 
at this moment, captain,’ said he, ‘ for I think 
I have found you a mate for the Marta. In 
fact, I was just broaching the subject to 
Pajarillo here when you came.’ 

‘ Does Mr Pach — Packa — I canna juist get 
ma tongue roond yon name, Mr Bruce. Does 
the gentleman speak English ? ’ 

‘ Not a word.’ 

‘ That ’ll be a deeficulty.’ 

‘ We ’ll get over that,’ said Bruce. ‘ You ’ll 
have me, you know, to interpret.^ You will 
do the navigating, and Pajarillo, who is a 
capital sailor, will run the crew. I ’ll just put 


GREY FISH. 


75 


it to him and make sure.’ He dropped into 
Spanish. ‘Little Bird, Captain Angus here 
has been honourably discharged from the 
British service on account of his injuries. 
But he’s not the man to settle down on a 
pension while his country is fighting for life. 
So he has entered into certain arrangements 
with the firm — I need not go into them, you 
can guess. The long and short of it is that 
there’s a schooner, the Marta, lying at the 
Herodia Mole, and Captain Angus is going to 
take her out with a trading cargo to Tenerife, 
and she needs a mate. She will be some 
weeks in the Canaries, and if an opportunity 
should arise for the mate to increase his 
pay in the manner you know of, you may 
rest assured that Captain Angus will put 
no difficulties in the way. What do you 
say?’ 

The Catalan looked from one to the other 
of his companions. ‘ Are you also going, 
Senor Bruce ? ’ he asked. 

Donald laughed gaily. ‘You know very 
well. Little Bird, that whenever there is a 
probability of the firm having to pay out 
sums of five thousand pesetas, I always 
endeavour to be present in order to check 
the account-keeping.’ 

‘ If you are going, I will go,’ said Pajarillo. 


76 


GREY FISH. 


Bruce turned to the Shetlander. ‘ He ’ll 
go,’ he said. ‘ His brother was blown up on 
a torpedoed ship. You know these Southern 
vendettas, captain. We’ll drink to a success- 
ful voyage ! ’ 

‘ Ay, we wull that,’ said Angus. ‘ And I ’ll 
gie the toast, an’ it’ll be the New Year 
toast o’ the Shetlands. Ye ken, we keep the 
auld calendar, sir, an’ it’s a gr-rand time up 
in Lerwick on the New Year’s Eve. I ’ll gie 
ye the toast they aye drink, an’ here it is: 
“ Health tae man, an’ death tae the grey fish ! ” 
We’re whalin’-men, ye ken, up yonder, an’ 
we a’ ken what that means. But there ’s ither 
grey fish in the seas the day, so I gie ye the 
auld Shetland toast to drink it wi’ a guid 
hairt the noo ! ’ 

Bruce interpreted, and Captain Angus, 
watching narrowly, saw the dark eyes of his 
new mate light up ; a strong brown hand shot 
out and gripped his own. Then the three 
men’s glasses clinked together, and the Martas 
crew was complete. 


II. 

A week later the Maria sailed from the 
Herodia Mole. She was not a very smart- 
looking craft. The rust was on her plates, 
and her paint — what remained of it — was 


GREY FISH. 


77 


streaked and blistered. Her sails were patched 
and parti-coloured, and she had a general air 
of rakishness. Captain Angus, however, had 
satisfied himself that her standing gear was 
good, and that she was reasonably seaworthy. 

‘ We ’ll tidy the lass up as we gang alang,’ he 
said ; ‘ and gin she behaves hersel’, we ’ll gie her 
a new dress while we lie in Santa Cruz — that ’s 
to say, gin we get there 1 ’ he added with native 
caution. 

So, on a sunny morning, when half-a-dozen 
Allied destroyers were manoeuvring outside 
the bay, the Marta slipped away from Mdlaga 
and the mountains of Spain, and with the 
yellow-red flag of Spain at her mast-head 
made for the Strait and the Western Ocean. 
Several times before she cleared Europa Point 
she had to lay to and answer polite inquiries. 
Once a British sub-lieutenant came aboard — 
a bright-faced, blue-eyed boy, who gave the 
Marta's skipper a tremendous hand-grip as 
he returned to his launch ; and once a Breton 
sea-rover, who remembered meeting Captain 
Angus years before, up in the Iceland seas, 
and in a queer mixture of gesture and broken 
English warned him that the U-boats were 
busy levying toll off Funchal. At last the 
Marta got through the Strait and felt the 
ocean rollers. 


78 


GREY FISH. 


‘ I ’m thinkin’, Mr Bruce,’ said Angus, 
‘ we ’ll gie Funchal the go-by. They tell me 
the cabs doon yonder are drawn by oxen 
instead o’ horses, an’ gang on runners instead 
o’ wheels, and I ’d like fine to tell ma wife I 
had r-ridden in ane, but I dinna think ’twould 
be prudent. We’re sailin’ under the Spanish 
flag, an’ tradin’ between neutral ports, an’ we 
hae nae women nor bairns aboard to tempt 
the Germans to murder, but we ’re owned % 
a British firm, an’ we canna get awa frae that. 
Sae we ’ll juist keep oorsel’s tae oorsel’s till we 
raise the Peak.’ 

So the Marta, crossing the ocean highway 
from the Cape, stood out into the blue Atlantic 
before she turned her long bowsprit south- 
ward. She made good weather of it for some 
days, and not a periscope did she see all the 
way to Madeira, which she left a faint blur on 
her eastern horizon. 

And then, half-way from Madeira to the 
Canaries, her luck ran out. She struck a 
region of unexpected calms. For seven whole 
days she drifted helplessly between the nether 
and the upper blue, sweltering under the 
tropical sunshine, heaving and dipping with 
flapping canvas to the slow, almost imper- 
ceptible roll of the vast Atlantic. She made 
not ten leagues in the seven days, and Captain 


GEEY FISH. 


79 


Angus began to look grave when he inspected 
the water-tanks. 

Early one morning the two Scotsmen and 
Pajarillo were on the poop together. Angus 
was smoking silently beside the useless wheel. 
The sun had risen half-an-hour before, but the 
air was motionless and opaque with a white 
sea-fog. The Little Bird was leaning over 
the rail, staring with a frown into the grey 
obscurity. Bruce, with the restless vigour of 
youth, was engaged with a hatchet chopping 
up a chunk of driftwood they had picked up 
overnight — to keep himself fit, he said. 

‘Mr Bruce,’ said Angus, ‘if I were mair 
at hame in these latitudes I wud feel mair 
comfortable. WuU ye ask the mate hoo lang 
this is like tae last ? ’ 

Bruce interpreted the question. 

The old Catalan shrugged his great shoulders. 
‘ Perhaps a day, perhaps a week. Quien sabe ? ’ 

‘We’ll hae to gang on half- water rations, 
gin something different disna happen the day,’ 
said Angus. 

The words were hardly out of his mouth 
when something different did happen, with 
that disconcerting suddenness characteristic of 
maritime affairs. 

Immediately below the eyes of the Little 
Bird, as he leaned indolently gazing, the oily 


80 


GREY FISH. 


surface of the ocean underwent a rapid change. 
It broke, and a dripping grey mass heaved 
itself into sight. At first the vast bulk re- 
mained half-awash, but two peculiar uprights 
a score of paces apart left no doubt as to its 
character. 

The Catalan leaped back from the rail like 
a man electrified. ‘ Dios ! A submarine 1 ’ he 
shouted, 

Donald Bruce dropped his hatchet and ran 
to the side. The Shetlander grabbed the 
wheel to save himself from falling, as the 
schooner felt the impact of the rising sub- 
marine, and roared in stentorian tones, ‘All 
hands on deck 1 ’ Bruce repeated the shout in 
Spanish for the crew, and then turned sharp 
round at the sound of a fierce yell behind 
him. 

El Pajarillo seemed suddenly to have run 
amok. He had snatched up the hatchet 
which the Scot had let fall on deck, and Bruce 
was just in time to see him standing outside 
the schooner’s rail, poised for a spring. Next 
moment he had gone overboard. 

Clinging to the rail, Bruce saw the Little 
Bird, axe still in hand, stumble to his feet 
on the glistening, wet, empty deck of the 
submarine. Then he ran forward, and with a 
terrific blow smashed in the eye-piece of the 


GREY FISH. 


81 


periscope nearest him. Without pausing a 
moment, Pajarillo again uttered his wild shout, 
and rushed at the second periscope, which he 
served likewise. 

The Martas crew by now were running up 
on deck, and Angus, his bearded face alight 
with excitement, was holding the rail beside 
his younger countryman. 

‘ By the pooers, he ’s blinded her ! ’ he ex- 
claimed. ‘We’ll hae the muckle deil to pey 
the noo ! ’ 

And yet for a moment nothing else hap- 
pened. The Little Bird, hatchet in hand, 
stood on the slippery steel deck beside the 
second periscope like a man dazed at his own 
achievement. The U-boat, seemingly, was 
every bit as much taken by surprise as the 
Marta herself, and stunned by the unexpected 
blindness which had overtaken her. For a 
full minute she gave no sign of life. Then 
the door of her conning-tower slid open, and 
an officer stepped out on deck. At the vision 
of the schooner rocking on the sea almost 
within arm’s reach he stood and stared in 
amazement. 

He had not perceived the Little Bird, to 
whom his back was half-turned. But Pajarillo 
had seen him, and the sight galvanised him 
into renewed activity. Without a word, he 

F 


82 


GREY FISH. 


hurled himself on the German from behind, 
lifted him off his feet like a child, and, running 
along the deck, flung him bodily into the sea 
just under the Martas counter. Next moment 
he had dived in after him, and before the sub- 
marine commander had choked up the salt 
water he had swallowed, the Spaniard had him 
pinned by both elbows from behind, and was 
treading water, holding up his enemy. 

‘ Guid mon ! Oh, canny ! canny ! ’ cried 
Angus ecstatically. He thrust a repeating- 
pistol into Bruce’s hand. ‘ Cover yon connin’- 
tooer hatch, ma lad, and gin ye can talk a 
few wor-rds o’ Hun, tell the Jonah-men to 
keep below, or their skipper ’s a deid mon.’ 

Thus ordering, Angus snatched up a coil of 
line, bent it with swift, skilful fingers to a life- 
belt, and flung the belt within a couple of 
yards of the men in the water. 

The Catalan turned at the splash, and grin- 
ning with instant comprehension, began to 
work himself and his captive towards the 
floating ring. 

The Shetland captain looked round for his 
men. ‘ Tally on the line, there, ye gawkin’ 
fules ! ’ he shouted ; and if his words were 
obscure to the Andalusian crew, his actions 
made them clear. They seized the end of the 
line and waited. 


GREY FISH. 


88 


Several of the submarine’s crew had come 
on deck by now, but the warning shout of 
Bruce, the sight of his levelled weapon, and 
possibly most of all the amazing spectacle of 
their commander’s plight, held them motion- 
less. 

The Little Bird reached the lifebelt. With 
a quick movement he let go the German with 
his right arm, hooked it through the belt, 
and resumed his grip before the half-drowned 
officer could turn. Out of the corner of his 
eye Bruce saw what was happening. ‘ Little 
Bird,’ he cried, ‘can you take the weight of 
you both on the one arm ? ’ 

‘ Cierto ! Pull us up ! ’ came the confident 
answer. 

‘ Haul away, captain. He ’ll stick it ! ’ said 
Bruce. 

The lifebelt and its dripping double burden 
swung out of the water, and a minute later 
the old smuggler and his catch were safely 
aboard. In another minute the German, his 
arms fast bound to his sides by the life-line, 
was brought alongside the young Scot. 

‘ Mr Bruce,’ said Angus, with a beaming 
smile, ‘wull ye tell yon square-heids that gin 
they mak’ ony kind o’ trouble we ’re gaein’ to 
blaw the brains oot o’ their skipper’s heid, but 
that gin they keep quiet we ’ll tak’ guid care 


84 


OBEY FISH. 


o’ him, an’ deliver him hack, cairriage free, 
inside the three-mile leemit at Santa Cruz ? ’ 

In the best German at his command — 
which was not very good — Bruce passed on 
this intimation. 

The men on the submarine looked up doubt- 
fully at their captive chief. The latter turned 
to Bruce. ‘You are English, are you not?’ 
he asked in faultless English. 

‘ I speak English better than German,’ the 
Scot admitted guardedly. 

‘ Bah ! You are English. Otherwise, why 
this outrage committed under a neutral flag 
upon a German officer ? ’ 

‘My good sir,’ said Bruce, ‘when one has 
the misfortune to bump into a mad dog, one 
does the first thing one thinks of. Luckily 
for us, our friend here had the presence of 
mind to think of the right thing.’ 

‘ Bah ! ’ spluttered the angry German. 
‘ Why should we harm an old tub like 
yours, sailing under the Spanish flag ? ’ 

Captain Angus chipped in. ‘ See here, ma 
fine mon, we dinna want to stand here haverin’ 
wi’ you. The question before the meetin’ is : 
Wull we kill each ither a’ roon’, or wull ye 
gang alang quietly wi’ us tae Santa Cruz ? ’ 
The German frowned in bewilderment at 
the broad Scots speech. ‘ I am not sure that 


GREY FISH. 


85 


I understand you, captain,’ said he. ‘ If I 
give you my word of honour not to try to 
escape, will you remove this cord, which is 
not suitable for an officer and a gentleman ? ’ 

‘ Mon, that ’s juist what I wull not dae,’ said 
Angus. ‘ A rope is a verra proper thing for a 
murderin’ pirate like yersel’, an’ gin ’twere 
roon’ yer neck, ’twould be in a properer place 
still. Either ye mun gang tae Santa Cruz wi’ 
yer hands tied, or tae Davy Jones wi’ yer heid 
split. Which wull it be ? ’ 

The German, dark with wrath, turned to 
the younger Scot. ‘ You seem to be a person 
of intelligence,’ he said. ‘ This ship of yours 
may be a week making the Canaries in the 
present calms. Do you expect my ship to lie 
about all that time, waiting till a British war- 
ship comes along to sink her ? ’ 

‘ If you decide in favour of saving your life,’ 
said Bruce, ‘ and your ship is pressed for time, 
I suggest that you give us a tow to Tenerife. 
Your fellows can easily cast off and submerge 
if we meet anything you are afraid of. But 
understand this : there must be no torpedo 
practice while you are aboard here. — Is that 
right. Captain Angus ? ’ 

‘Pairfectly richt, and a verra guid notion, 
too, Mr Bruce.’ 

‘ And what security hare I,’ asked the Get- 


86 


GREY FISH. 


man arrogantly, ‘ that you will carry out your 
part of the bargain, and put me back on my 
ship at the Canaries ? ’ 

‘ The security o’ a guid Scots promise, ma 
fine mon ; an’ deil a better security wull ye 
find in the haill o’ Kaiserland.’ 

‘ I accept your terms, and one day I will 
repay your insults,’ said the captive. ‘ I am 
of more value to my Kaiser than many 
wretched tubs like yours. But be warned, 
if you play me false, we will blow your 
schooner out of the water, and every man of 
you shall drown.’ 

‘Ye needna swank,’ said Angus. ‘Bid yer 
Jonah-men get oot a hawser. An’ tell them 
that ilka eicht bells till we mak’ port they can 
refresh themsel’s gazin’ at ye for twa meenits 
up on the fo’c’sle-heid, to mak’ sure we havena 
lost ye.’ 


III. 

Thus it came about that for the first time 
in his life a very irate submarine commander 
made a voyage in a Spanish tramp schooner, 
and every four hours, as Angus had promised, 
was paraded on deck for the inspection of his 
compatriots. It was the Little Bird to whom 
it generally fell to take charge of the hostage 
on these occasions, and Pajarillo performed 


GREY FISH. 


87 


the ceremony with great gusto. He would 
compliment the German on the power of his 
ship’s engines as she towed the schooner along, 
and on the skill with which his crew had so 
quickly repaired the damaged periscopes, and 
would express compassion for them in the 
narrow quarters to which their occupation 
condemned them. 

‘ It seems, senor teniente,' the Catalan 
gravely observed, ‘that you and I are fated 
to be thrown together. Who would have 
thought, when we parted on the Alameda 
back there in Malaga, that we should so soon 
be shipmates ? Life is strange, senor teniente. 
It will be sad when you have to leave us.’ 

‘ Be assured, we shall meet again 1 ’ the 
German answered in his harsh Spanish. ‘ And 
when we do, my friend — Ach, lieber Gott, 
when we do ! ’ His glare of suppressed ferocity 
filled in the rest. 

But the smuggler merely smiled, and 
shrugged his broad shoulders, as he quoted 
his country’s proverb : ‘ “ To every pig his 
Martinmas,” senor teniente ! Who knows the 
hour of his death ? You and I have so much 
to say to each other that only a tongue of 
steel can say it.’ 

It was on a fine, breezy morning that the 
Marta descried the Peak of Tenerife, poised 


88 


GREY FISH. 


far away above its cushion of cloud, like an 
island in the sky. Up to now they had hardly 
sighted a vessel, but as they neared the island 
a distant streak of smoke made the U-boat 
nervous. She submerged, leaving the Marta 
to sail on for port. 

They were well within the three-mile limit, 
and rapidly nearing the harbour, when for the 
last time the submarine commander was led 
on deck by the Little Bird to be exhibited to 
his crew, whose periscope, an evil black speck, 
was visible a few cables’ length astern in the 
schooner’s wake. 

‘The question of how best to restore you 
to your friends, senor teniente,' said the Little 
Bird gravely, ‘ is one that has given us anxious 
thought. We might land you, and let them 
come into port for you, but our captain feels 
that would be taking an unfair advantage of 
you. The British, as you know, have these 
ridiculous notions of what they call sport. 
We might lay to, and let you go aboard ; but 
there are two difficulties : for one thing, we 
do not wish to be suspected of having any- 
thing to do with such people as you ; for 
another thing, when you found yourself safe 
back aboard, some careless fellow on your ship 
might accidentally let slip a torpedo in our 
direction.’ 


GREY FISH. 


89 


‘You have my word of honour,’ said the 
German haughtily. 

‘ Very true,’ the Little Bird agreed. ‘ But 
unfortunately, senor teniente, we cannot 
persuade our captain to place any reliance 
on that security. In fact, he suggests that 
as you came to us through the water, it 
would be best for you to return in like 
manner.’ 

‘ I do not understand,’ said the German. 

‘It is quite simple,’ said Pajarillo politely. 
‘We propose to give you a lifebelt, and to 
lower you over the side. Before this is done, 
yonder periscope must drop astern at least a 
mile ; that will give us the opportunity to get 
into harbour while your friends are picking 
you up. The moment you are overboard we 
will intimate the fact to your friends by yaw- 
ing off our course to starboard. You may 
signal these instructions to your vessel. Do 
I make myself clear, senor teniente ? ’ 

The German at first stared with angry 
incredulity; but when it dawned upon him 
that the proposal was seriously made, his fury 
vented itself in a torrent of abuse. Captain 
Angus and Bruce, standing beside the Little 
Bird, listened stolidly to his flow of maledic- 
tion. Finding it without effect, the German 
stopped at last, and looked from one to 


90 


GREY FISH. 


another of the three men. ‘ I protest ! ’ said 
he. ‘In the name of civilisation, I protest 
against such barbarity. These waters are in- 
fested with sharks. I may be devoured alive 
while my ship is coming to my assistance.’ 

‘ The sea is as God made it,’ answered 
Pajarillo grimly. ‘ A shark, senor, is no more 
dangerous to a man with a lifebelt than are 
cold and storm to a shipwrecked crew left 
hundreds of miles from land — such a spectacle 
as you, senor teniente, have often assisted at. 
Moreover, the shark is a wise beast. What 
shark, recognising the uniform of a German 
submarine officer, would bite the hand which 
feeds him ? ’ 

The German, however, did not share this 
optimistic view, and when (after being fluently 
and comprehensively cursed) the Marta's men 
lowered him into the Atlantic waves, he com- 
menced kicking and splashing the moment he 
touched the water. And the last sight they 
had of him as they ran into Santa Cruz, just 
before the U-boat emerged on the surface 
beside him, he was kicking still. 

‘ What I should like to know, Pajarillo,’ 
said Bruce as he and Captain Angus sat with 
the old smuggler that evening in a caffi on 
the Plaza Mayor, ‘ is this : whatever put it 
into your head, when that fellow’s ship bobbed 


GREY FISH. 


91 


up alongside of us, to act as you did ? You 
certainly saved our lives.’ 

The big Catalan took a long, thoughtful 
pull at his puro before he answered. ‘ Senor 
Bruce,’ said he confidentially, ‘ you have known 
me for a long time, and you will not accuse 
me of being a coward. 'So to you I am not 
afraid to confess what I would not say to 
every man. Well, then, it was simply that I 
was frightened. When that ugly grey thing 
bumped up out of the sea against our schooner, 
I was seized with panic, and for the moment 
I did not know what I was doing. And after- 
wards, when I was on the submarine, and that 
man came out of the conning-tower, and I saw 
it was the very same whom I had met on the 
Alameda, I was (if possible) more frightened 
still, for then I knew we had no chance what- 
ever if he saw my face. So I just ran at him 
as a wild bull rushes in the ring, and threw 
him into the sea ; though what I was going to 
do next I knew no more than Adam. It was 
our brave captain who had the wit to turn 
my madness to good account. I drink to our 
captain, Senor Bruce. As for me, I was 
merely frightened.’ He raised his glass, and 
bowed with a princely air to the sturdy 
Shetlander, who sat vainly trying to follow 
their conversation. 


92 


GREY FISH. 


Bruce translated the compliment, and the 
islander’s ruddy face went redder than ever. 

‘ Hoots, Mr Bruce, sir ! Tell him he ’s a 
gentleman. And tell him, gin ye wull, that 
the next time I am in a ticht cor-mer I hope 
I ’ll hae a mate beside me juist as frichtened 
as himsel’.’ 


THE SHARK’S CAGE. 

I. 

OU see the idea ? ’ said Donald Bruce. 



^ ‘Top-hole,’ answered the lieutenant- 
commander. He was a very young lieu- 
tenant-commander, and his eyes sparkled with 
an almost boyish eagerness. ‘ It would be a 
great scoop,’ he said. ‘The only thing that 
bothers me is that we have to be so careful 
not to tread on the toes of those confounded 
neutrals. The Canaries, of course, are Spanish 
territory.’ 

‘ The Spaniards,’ said Bruce severely, ‘ should 
protect their neutrality from abuse.’ 

‘ I know. All the same, if there were to 
be any kind of a misfire, and this beastly 
Boche once got his U-boat clear of this “Cage ” 
of yours, Mr Bruce, he would send in a com- 
plaint to his embassy at Madrid, and the 
Spanish Government would raise Cain. I 
wish I knew what the international law of the 
matter is. You see, I stand to get into a 
deadly row if I ’m wrong.’ 

The Scotsman nodded his appreciation. 
‘ The whole point of my scheme is,’ he 
patiently explained, ‘that we don’t aim at 


94 


GREY FISH. 


fighting at all. We merely seek to kidnap 
the whole caboodle — ship, men, and everything. 
Kidnapping is a mere civilian offence, which 
anybody is entitled to commit at his own risk. 
On the other hand, these miserable Huns are 
systematically infringing Spanish neutrality 
by using this spot as their base. All we do 
is to slip into La Jaula before them, lie 
doggo till the right moment, and then 
corral the lot and cart them away to some 
comfortable internment camp. Why, they 
ought to be grateful to us for saving their 
lives ! ’ 

‘ It would be a great scoop,’ the lieutenant- 
commander repeated dreamily. 

‘“Nothing venture, nothing win,”’ quoted 
Bruce. 

The young officer gazed thoughtfully at 
the two men before him. Both of them — 
the grey-eyed, alert Scot, and his silent, big 
Catalan companion — wore the dress of Spanish 
peasants. Inured as he had become to queer 
doings since he had taken his first submarine 
out of Spithead a couple of years before, the 
proposition which these two men had come 
out from Tenerife in a fishing-boat to lay 
before him was as fanciful an adventure as 
even the lieutenant-commander could have 
desired. Boyish as he seemed, however, he 


THE shark’s cage. 


95 


was a pretty shrewd judge of character, and 
he made up his mind quickly. 

‘ I ’ll do it, Mr Bruce,’ he said quietly. ‘ By 
gad, I wish I could talk to your silent friend 
here in his own lingo ! Do you say you have 
actually got these fifty Spanish peasant suits 
in your boat right here ? ’ 

‘ Right here, sir,’ said Bruce. 

‘Well, that’s that,’ said the lieutenant- 
commander. He got out a box of cigarettes 
and passed them. ‘ Before we tranship them, 
if you won’t think it impertinent, I should 
like to hear how you got on the track of this 
business.’ 

The Scot slowly inhaled a mouthful of 
cigarette-smoke and slowly blew it out again 
before replying. ‘ A couple of days after we 
landed at Santa Cruz, my friend the Little 
Bird ran up against an old acquaintance of 
his in a caf^. This old acquaintance had had 
to clear out of Spain some years ago owing 
to a difference with the Customs on the tariff* 
question; and after drifting about Cuba for 
a few years, he had settled down here in the 
Canaries, where, I gather, he is doing pretty 
well. Of course, like everybody else, they 
talked about the submarine campaign. The 
Little Bird’s friend wasn’t very pleased with 
the Huns, it seems, because he has a biggish 


96 


GREY FISH. 


interest in the banana trade, which is all any- 
how on account of the pirates ; but, on the 
other hand, he mentioned that he was making 
up his losses to some extent by helping to 
supply the brutes with necessaries at one of 
their rendezvous. Well, the Little Bird is 
pretty slim — don’t let him think I am talking 
about him — and after they had had a few 
drinks together, he seems to have got his old 
friend to take him on as a kind of agent to 
convey the stuff to this place which they call 
the Cage — La Jaula in the Spanish. You see, 
the Government regulations about neutrality 
make it a difficult thing to engage in that sort 
of trade, and the Cage is a nasty place to get 
at, and the Little Bird had a pretty good 
record as a daring smuggler at home in the 
old days ; so I suppose his acquaintance 
thought he would be a handy kind of man 
for the job. Anyway, he took him on, and 
Pajarillo got through with a big consignment 
of stuff in Al style, and his friend was de- 
lighted. The Little Bird did not forget his 
vendetta against his brother’s murderers, how- 
ever, and had a good look round while he was 
there. A few days later he took me up with 
him alone on the q.t., and we made a further 
and more detailed inspection of the locus in 
quo, as the lawyers say. And now Pajarillo’s 


THE shark’s cage. 


97 


friend has booked him to take charge of the 
next lot of mules going up with the stuff on 
Sunday night for loading into the U-boat on 
the Monday. He will take his own crowd 
with him — half-a-dozen fellows from our boat, 
the Marta, who can be relied on to obey 
orders. They will deal with the two men in 
charge of the store and the tackle on the cliff- 
top. The rest we do for ourselves.’ 

‘ Won’t it be just a wee bit rough on your 
friend’s pal in Santa Cruz?’ asked the lieu- 
tenant-commander, with a true British sense 
of fair-play. 

The Scot smiled. ‘ M‘Ilroy, M‘Ilroy, and 
M‘Allister, my employers, will see that the 
gentleman is not out of pocket on the trans- 
action,’ he said. 

‘Top-hole!’ exclaimed the young officer. 
He patted the great Catalan on the shoulder. 
‘ Mr Bruce, tell him he ’s a brick,’ he requested. 

Bruce interpreted, and the brown, lined face 
relaxed into a grave smile. El Pajarillo re- 
moved his cigarette with his left hand and 
held out his right. ‘ Camarada ! ’ he said. 

‘ True for you, old son ! ’ replied the lieuten- 
ant-commander. ‘We’ll give ’em Kamerad, 
if we have any luck. Now, let ’s get those 
fancy dresses of yours aboard, Mr Bruce, and 
then your friend can go back with his boat 
6 


98 


GREY FISH. 


and carry on. You are sure you can point 
me out the way into this Cage place from 
the sea ? ’ 

‘ I took my bearings very carefully when I 
was there,’ answered the Scot; ‘and though 
I have never had the honour of piloting a 
submarine before, I have knocked about a 
good deal with ships of one sort or another. 
I think I can promise you.’ 

II. 

A couple of afternoons later Donald Bruce 
was enjoying the novel, and to him weird, 
experience of standing with the lieutenant- 
commander at the periscope of the submarine 
as it pursued its way beneath the waters of 
the Atlantic along the rock-bound coast of 
Tenerife. The sensation reminded him of a 
long-ago day in his childhood, when, with 
a crowd of summer visitors, he had walked 
round the table of a camera-obscura on a 
seaside pier at home, watching from the dark- 
ness of the tiny room the crowd of trippers 
and the bathing-machines on the distant beach. 
Only, the camera-obscura did not sway up 
and down with the rather sickly alternations 
which the Atlantic Ocean imparted to the sub- 
marine ship. He wiped the perspiration from 
his forehead, and wished the trip was over. 


THE shark’s cage. 


99 


‘ There ’s La Jaula ! ’ he suddenly exclaimed. 

The shore, perhaps two miles to starboard 
of them, was a line of high cliff, parched and 
gray-brown in the hot sun. At a point which 
they were nearing there was a black slit in 
the line of sunlit cliff, where some ancient 
cataclysm of this volcanic land had rent the 
rocky mass. The slit went only part way up 
the cliff, and, seen from seaward at this dis- 
tance, had the appearance of a mere triangular 
crack in the face of the rock wall — a crack 
perhaps ten feet wide at its base, extending 
some fifty feet up the cliffside. 

‘ Man alive,’ exclaimed the lieutenant- 
commander, ‘you don’t suppose I am going 
to put my ship at that crack I The camel 
that tried to get through the needle’s eye had 
a cushy job compared with that ! What ? ’ 

‘ Wait and see,’ Bruce answered. ‘ The tide 
is high at present. When the tide is low, 
the fall of even a few feet that the ocean tides 
give you here will make all the difference. 
You will see that the opening broadens very 
much at the base. You will then be able to 
run right up to the cliff, dive as you enter the 
cleft, run along under water for a hundred 
yards or so at a depth of from twenty to 
thirty feet, and then poke your periscope up 
again. You will find yourself in the Cage.’ 


100 


GREY FISH. 


‘ I say, Bruce,’ said the young officer gravely, 
‘you know what would happen if this httle 
ship of mine hit those rocks in the tunnel ? ’ 

Bruce nodded. ‘ I know. But you won’t 
hit them. If it were a man swimming, he 
could swim right in without diving.’ 

‘ How do you know ? ’ 

‘Because I have done it, sir,’ said Bruce. 
‘ The Little Bird and I swam it together, and 
tested the depth by diving.’ 

The officer stared at him. ‘ The devil you 
did!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, you’re a cool 
hand, anyway. All the same, it’s a deuced 
rum place.’ 

‘ Inside,’ the Scot continued, ‘ it is a great 
irregular crater, acres of still, dark water, with 
precipices dropping down to it as steep as the 
side of a house, on every quarter but one, and 
there is our ravine. My theory is that in one 
of the prehistoric eruptions of these islands, 
there actually was a crater which burst open 
here partly under water, and that the sea- 
w'ater, getting down to the underground 
fires, went off in steam and blew crevices 
like this on all sides. However, I ’m no 
geologist.’ 

‘ No,’ the lieutenant -commander agreed. 
‘But for a wine-merchant’s clerk, old son, 
you have some pretty serviceable gifts. I 


THE shark’s cage. 


101 


think we’ll lie oft* here till sundown, and 
then butt in and try our luck in the Cage.’ 

At dusk, when the submarine, all but 
her periscope submerged, again approached 
the cliff, there was a noticeable change. The 
narrow slit had broadened out at the base 
till it resembled the mouth of a vast culvert 
debouching into the sea. On the water-level 
it was nearly a hundred yards across. Inside, 
it was black as the pit. 

‘ By gum ! ’ said the lieutenant-commander 
as he stood at his eye-piece ; ‘ it ’s a shuddery 
place, Mr Bruce ! I bet that Boche skipper’s 
heart was in his sea-boots the first time he 
went in there ! I know mine is. Well, we ’re 
in for it now. Here goes ! ’ 

He gave the order to submerge still deeper, 
and had any man been there to witness, he 
would have seen the periscope disappear in 
the swirling water at the foot of the cliff. 
Sunk deep under, the lieutenant-commander 
stood in the body of his little craft, and by 
the light of the electric lamps watched the 
seconds-hand of his chronometer, with a tense, 
pale face. At last his hand moved to a lever. 
The vessel’s way was checked. She rose a 
little, and presently at the eye-piece of the 
periscope a dim, uncertain picture showed 
itself. 


102 


6REY FISH. 


Bruce heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. 
‘You must come to the surface now,’ said 
he. * If the Little Bird has done his part, 
we have no observers to fear.’ 

A couple of minutes later they emerged 
from the conning-tower on to the wet deck, 
and looked about them. 

The submarine was afloat in the midst of a 
deep, gloomy lake, ringed round with beetling 
cliffs, in whose cracked and riven sides cavern- 
ous black openings showed here and there — 
mysterious witnesses to the terrific force of 
that long-ago explosion which had rent the 
island shore. Only at one point in the irregular 
circuit of the dark lake was there a tiny 
strip of beach, formed of broken volcanic 
fragments. This beach was steep-to, the 
water deepening immediately ; but against 
the rocky wall behind the beach was a simple 
arrangement of tackle, by means of which a 
gangway could be raised, or lowered, to 
extend a few feet out over the water. At 
the present moment this gangway was down 
and in the dim light, standing at the end of 
it with a hand on one of the guide-ropes, was 
the tall figure of El Pajarillo, smoking a 
cigarette with philosophic calm. 

The lieutenant-commander rubbed his hands 
with satisfaction. ‘ Mr Bruce, that partner of 


THE shark’s cage. 108 

yours is a daisy. I take off my hat to him,’ 
he said. 

The Scot glanced up the face of the cliff 
above the gangway tackle. ‘ Yes, it ’s all 
right,’ said he ; ‘ there ’s the signal — the 
Spanish flag hung out instead of the Hun.’ 

Three hundred feet up the dark rock, a bit 
of bunting, striped with yellow and red, hung 
against the fading daylight. 

‘The store-hut is just there,’ said Bruce, 
‘and there is a tackle at the top to lower 
the stuff by. It doesn’t look far, but it ’s the 
better part of half-a-mile to get there. I will 
show you where to take your ship so that she 
won’t be seen, and then we’ll come back 
and get to work.’ 

The submarine went ahead slowly towards 
the landward borders of the Cage, passing 
round an angle of rock which completely hid 
her from the entrance and the landing-stage. 
She came to one of the Assures in the cliffside, 
large enough to take her in complete conceal- 
ment, even on the surface of the water. ‘ How 
will this do ? ’ Bruce asked. 

‘ Top-hole ! ’ answered the officer. ‘ I ’ll send 
my second round here with her when we have 
gone ashore. Now for the beach, and those 
fancy-dress costumes of yours 1 ’ 

With twenty men of the submarine’s crew. 


104 


GREY FISH. 


garbed, like themselves, as Spanish peasants, 
and wearing the silent alpargatas, or rope 
sandals, on their feet, they landed. El Paja- 
rillo saluted gravely as they came up the gang- 
way. ‘ All is secure above, Senor Bruce,’ he 
reported. ‘I delivered my stores into the 
hut, and sent away all those with me who 
were not members of the Martds crew. Then 
we surprised the German agent and the two 
men with him. I have put them in a safe 
place under guard. The German submarine 
will come in on to-morrow morning’s ebb. 
We have plenty of time to get ready. You 
have the gear ready for loosening the bridge ? ’ 

‘We have everything. Little Bird,’ Bruce 
answered. ‘And if all goes as it should, I 
shall take the responsibility of advising my 
firm to add .50 per cent, to your fee for this 
adventure.’ 

The old smuggler bowed with a regal air. 
‘ I shall do my best to deserve your considera- 
tion, senor.’ 

Led by Bruce and the Spaniard, the party 
made their way up a steep, winding track, 
which rose gradually, with varying gradient, 
towards the cliflP-top. They walked in single 
file, for the track, though bordered in places 
with thick subtropical shrubs, admitted of no 
more. Again and again it curved so sharply 


THE SHARKS CAGE. 


105 


on itself round an angle of rock that an un- 
giiided stranger in the swiftly gathering dark- 
ness must inevitably have walked over the 
edge of the precipice which fell away on the 
outer side. The sailors, habituated to the 
confined space of the submarine, breathed 
heavily as they breasted the steep ascent. 

When they had covered something over 
a quarter of a mile along the sharp zigzags 
of the cliff path, they came to a point 
where the narrow track, clinging to the side 
of the cliff, made a series of angles like an 
irregular letter M. At the central point of 
the M a narrow bridge, formed of a couple 
of planks laid together and secured by ropes 
to uprights on either side, spanned a cavernous 
crack of some seven feet wide, which dropped 
sheer for fifty or sixty feet. Here Bruce 
halted, and turned to the lieutenant-com- 
mander, who walked immediately in his rear. 

‘ This is the crux of the whole scheme,’ said 
he. ‘As soon as Mr Hun arrives in the 
morning, he will send up his working-party 
of a dozen to twenty men to load up the stuff 
from the hut. In all probability the skipper 
will go with them himself to superintend 
the proceedings. There is just about enough 
room in these shrubs to hide a couple of your 
most reliable men. As soon as the Boche 


106 


GREY FISH. 


party have crossed the bridge and got out 
of sight, these men must pitch this bridge 
down into the canon. Then the Little Bird, 
who is known to the Huns from having been 
here before with a consignment of stuff, will 
go down to the German boat, say there has 
been an accident to the bridge, and ask them 
to send up every man they can spare with 
fresh planks to make a new bridge. That 
will pretty well clear out their ship. As soon 
as the second party have got well away, your 
fellows ambushed in the rocks by the landing- 
stage will sound a bugle, and rush the German 
ship. At the same signal your ship will sail 
round the bend and show the Germans the 
game is up. If the second German party 
attempt to return down the path, they will 
be held up there by the half-dozen fellows you 
will have hidden for the purpose. And, as 
you see, on a path like this a couple of men 
with rifles could hold up any number. As 
for the first lot, we shall look after them up 
above. You see, they won’t be able to recross 
the gap with the bridge gone. There is a 
very steep bit just at the top as you come out 
to the store-hut. With a few men up there 
we shall be able to truss them up one after 
the other as they climb to the level, and we 
shall have half of them captured before they 


THE shark’s case. 


107 


find there is anything amiss. They will have 
to come up sooner or later, and we can afford 
to wait for them if necessary. The great 
thing is to keep our men well hidden till the 
right moment. If we do that, we ought to 
bag the whole hornet’s nest without so much 
as a sting.’ 

‘They might shoot your friend, the Little 
Bird,’ observed the lieutenant-commander. 

‘ They might ; but I don’t think they will,’ 
said Bruce. ‘ Pajarillo is pretty well used to 
looking after himself, and he knows what he 
is up against.’ 

‘We’ll see it through, anyhow,’ said the 
other. ‘If these Canary folk can’t protect 
their own neutrality, we must help them.’ 

It was now a darkish night, with only a 
crescent of moon showing. El Pajarillo, 
however, had already gone carefully over the 
ground, and with the aid of flash-torches the 
lieutenant - commander placed his men in 
the several ambushes selected. He himself 
decided to lead the beach-party to the attack 
of the U-boat. 

A couple of hours before daybreak a re- 
hearsal of the programme was performed by 
all hands, the Germans being personated by 
the remaining members of the submarine’s 
crew. It went off* without a hitch. An hour 


108 


GREY FISH. 


later the lieutenant-commander, with Bruce, 
made a final tour of inspection to see that all 
were in their places. The submarine was sent 
away to her hiding-place ; and then, while the 
tropical day grew quickly out of the sea, the 
grey-black cliffs of the Cage waited in silence, 
with no sign of the watching eyes and listen- 
ing ears which peopled their grim solitudes. 
Over the oil-still green water in the Cage 
itself the German flag once more hung limply 
from the store-shed on the height, to allay 
suspicion. There was nothing to disturb the 
confidence of the most cautious U-boat skipper 
who ever sneaked into a secret lair. 

III. 

Hark ! Just as the shining of the upper 
sky bore witness to the coming of the sun, 
the rocky walls of the Cage sent up a warning 
sound — the swishing, slapping noise caused by 
the wash of a large vessel. The Little Bird, 
who was posted at a spot whence he could 
just see the landing-stage — which he had 
placed in position — saw from his hiding-place 
the long, grey bulk of the U-boat glide up 
to the stage and stop. An officer on deck 
stepped on to the gangway and looked about 
him, as if expecting some one to greet him. 
Seeing no one, he glanced upward to where 


THE shark’s cage. 


109 


the German flag hung immediately overhead. 
The sight apparently reassured him, for he 
gave an order, and from the deck of the vessel, 
where they were clustered, the U-boat’s crew 
followed him ashore, each man carrying a 
rifle. El Pajarillo counted a score of men 
who landed. Led by the officer, they began 
the ascent of the winding path. They passed 
him safely, and a little later he heard the crash 
of the plank bridge falling into the chasm, and 
a confused shouting which followed. 

In accordance with his instructions, the 
Little Bird promptly left the shelter of his 
bush and hastened down the path to the 
landing-stage. The sound of the crash and 
the shouting had reached those on board the 
U-boat, and the Little Bird’s brown, lined face 
assumed an expression of great concern as he 
approached. A junior officer, pistol in hand, 
awaited him at the end of the gangway. 

‘ Gott im Himmel! What is the matter, you 
Spanish trickster ? ’ he demanded fiercely. 

El Pajarillo spread out his horny hands and 
shrugged his big shoulders. ‘ Senor teniente, 
there has been an unfortunate accident. The 
supports of the bridge across the gap have 
given way, and the bridge has gone to the 
bottom of the gap. By the mercy of God, 
all your men are safely across, and I myself 


110 


GREY FISH. 


contrived to save my neck. But without 
planks it is impossible to get back, and the 
senor capitan requests that you will at once 
bring or send a party with planks and gear to 
repair the bridge.’ 

‘ Why not bring them down from the 
hut?’ 

‘ Impossible, senor teniente. It is as much 
as a man’s neck is worth to bring heavy 
articles down the steep at the top of the path. 
If you have been up the path, senor, you will 
recognise the truth of what I say.’ 

It seemed that the junior officer had never 
himself been up the path, but he called a 
petty officer who had, and this man confirmed 
the Catalan’s statement. The two Germans 
thereupon consulted together. 

While they were still talking a warning 
cry came from above, where the German flag 
drooped in the morning stillness, and there 
swung slowly down to them a big crate, 
lowered from the windlass at the cliff-top. 
The officer watched till it touched the beach. 
It was full of provisions — cans of heavy oil 
for the Diesel engines, and large bunches of 
bananas — a welcome sight to men fresh from 
the confinement of a submarine cruise. 

Not a muscle moved in the Little Bird’s 
face, but he thought to himself that the Sefior 


THE shark’s cage. 


Ill 


Bruce was no fool to drop that tempting bait 
just at the very moment when its appearance 
might turn the scale against the German 
officer’s doubts. 

In came, indeed, in the very nick of time, 
and the young German’s face clearly showed 
the relief which he felt. He ordered half-a- 
dozen men to remain and load ship. The rest 
were to accompany him with gear to repair 
the broken bridge. ‘ Bring revolvers, every 
man,’ said he as a final caution in his own 
tongue. ‘One never knows what to expect 
fi*om these cursed Spaniards.’ He dropped 
into Spanish again for the Little Bird’s benefit. 
‘ As for you,’ he said, ‘ you will lead the party, 
and I warn you that should any accident 
happen it will be you who will suffer.’ 

‘With care, senor teniente, there should 
be no accident,’ answered El Pajarillo with 
grave irony. 

Two wide and solid planks were brought 
from the body of the vessel, and with half-a- 
dozen men carrying each, and the officer and 
El Pajarillo leading, the second party of Ger- 
mans slowly mounted the path. 

It was ticklish work for the carriers on the 
narrow track. Twice they stopped for a 
breather before they reached the spot where 
the ambush-party waited. The Little Bird, 


112 


GREY FISH. 


walking in front with the knowledge that the 
officer’s revolver was immediately behind him, 
could not rid himself of a certain uneasiness 
as to what would happen when the bugle 
sounded. The strain of waiting for that bugle 
told severely on his nerves, and when the 
officer gave the order for a third halt on a 
very narrow strip of path almost immediately 
opposite the ambush, he felt he had done all 
that could reasonably be expected of a man 
with a pistol at the small of his back. Profit- 
ing by the momentary diversion of the officer’s 
attention, he turned about with lightning 
swiftness, and in a moment his powerful arms 
were fast about the astonished Hun, whose 
arms were pinned close to his sides as the 
Little Bird turned him so as to act as a 
shield between his men and his captor. 

‘ Hands up, all of you ! ’ shouted El Paja- 
rillo in a terrible voice. 

Almost at the same instant the bugle rang 
out from below, followed by the sound of a 
British cheer. 

Before the Germans on the path had time 
to recover from their astonishment at the 
sudden turn of affairs, the shrubs parted on 
the rocky slope, and the ambush-party showed 
themselves with rifles levelled. 

‘ Hande hoch ! ’ cried a petty officer among 


THE shark’s cage. 


113 


the seeming Spaniards. The pronunciation 
was open to criticism, but the effect was in- 
stantaneous. The Huns, trapped on the path- 
way, with one accord dropped their planks, 
which crashed down the precipitous side of 
the cliff, and stood in a row like men petrified, 
each with his hands stretched high above his 
head. The British petty officer detailed a 
couple of his men to disarm them, beginning 
with the sub-lieutenant, whose revolver they 
transferred to the Little Bird. Then the 
whole lot were forthwith marched back down 
the path to the beach. 

Everything there had gone ‘ according to 
plan.’ The lieutenant -commander, with a 
beaming face, pointed to half-a-dozen dis- 
consolate Huns grouped under the care of a 
couple of sentries on the deck of his own sub- 
marine, which was now lying alongside the 
U-boat. While the new prisoners were being 
sent to join them, the consignment of useful 
articles which had descended from the cliff-top 
suddenly began to rise again into the air. 

The lieutenant - commander watched its 
ascent with interested gaze. ‘What’s that 
Scotsman up to now?’ he muttered. Then 
he forgot the incident in his preoccupation 
with his prisoners and their captured vessel. 
But presently the Little Bird touched him 

H 


114 


GREY FISH. 


respectfully on the shoulder and pointed sky- 
wards. 

The lieutenant-commander looked up again, 
stared hard, and burst out laughing. ‘ Well, 
if that doesn’t beat cock-fighting!’ he said. 
‘Lads, here comes a consignment of real 
German sausages, carriage paid. Stand by 
to unpack I ’ 

The crate descended to the beach. It 
contained, in place of stores, a parcel of four 
German sailors securely lashed together, with 
their hands bound fast to their sides. The 
British seamen unloaded them with many a 
joke, and the crate immediately reascended. 
Four times this method of delivery was re- 
peated, and with the last consignment came 
Donald Bruce himself, grinning broadly as he 
bestrode the frame, and held on to the chain. 

He sprang down and shook hands with the 
lieutenant -commander and the Little Bird. 
‘I was just a wee bit anxious about adding 
my weight,’ he explained. ‘ But it ’s a good 
chain, lieutenant, and I wanted to get down 
quick and see the haul. The rest of the boys 
will come down by road as soon as you send 
up and mend the bridge. They will send you 
down the stores first. We might as well have 
them. Man, I wouldn’t have missed this for 
wor-rlds I ’ 


THE shark’s cage. 


115 


‘ It puts the lid on,’ said the lieutenant- 
commander. ‘ We ’ve got the men, we ’ve 
got the ship, and we ’ve got the boodle too.’ 

‘ What will you do with them ? ’ asked the 
Scot. 

The lieutenant-commander assumed a severe 
expression. ‘ Mr Bruce,’ he said, ‘ you are 
endeavouring to elicit information on Service 
matters which might be of use to the King’s 
enemies. If we were within British jurisdic- 
tion, you would render yourself liable to pro- 
ceedings under the Defence of the Realm Act. 
As it is, I will ask you what you and your 
piratical friend here intend to do next. You 
will recognise that it is not possible for me to 
put to sea with civilians aboard.’ 

‘Sir,’ said Bruce gravely, ‘ I consider it my 
duty to inform the British consul at Santa 
Cruz of the suspected existence of a resort of 
German submarines at this point of the coast, 
in order that he may lodge a proper protest 
with the Spanish authorities, who will no 
doubt act upon his information.’ 

‘ A very right proceeding,’ said the lieu- 
tenant- commander. ‘ Will you deem it neces- 
sary to inform the consul of our little affair of 
this morning ? ’ 

The Scot slowly shook his head. ‘ I should 
regard that as conveying information of naval 


116 


GREY FISH, 


movements — which, as you doubtless know, 
lieutenant, we civilians are strictly forbidden 
to do.’ 

‘ Old man,’ said the lieutenant-commander, 
‘ the soundness of your judgment equals the 
fertility of your resource. You are, if I may 
say so. It. And your friend here with the 
unpronounceable name is also It. I shall not 
forget the name of your enterprising firm, 
and when this scrapping is over I hope you 
and I will meet with greater leisure for 
conversation.’ 

The two men clasped hands again. ‘ With 
your permission,’ said Bruce, ‘ the Little Bird 
and I will go up once more by the lift. It 
will save us the climb, and get us the quicker 
to Santa Cruz.’ 

So, as the windlass wound up the crate 
again, the Scot and the Catalan ascended in 
it together. « 

‘It was not so bad, Senor Bruce?’ said 
Pajarillo modestly as they stepped out on top. 

‘ Pajarillo mio, it was superb I ’ said Bruce. 


THE ISLE OF LADIES, 

I. 

Ty^HEN the old schooner Marta left 
’ ’ Malaga, outward bound, there had 
been some idea on the part of her owners of 
giving her a thorough overhaul and a clean 
coat of paint, if and when she arrived at the 
Canaries. But what with the increasing price 
of materials, and the chance — which was felt 
to be considerable — that so slow and aged a 
craft might fall in with a U-boat on her 
homeward voyage, the good resolve of the 
owners had been indefinitely postponed. So 
the Marta, as she lay in the afternoon sun- 
shine in the harbour of Santa Cruz, was no 
ornament to the port. 

On her after-deck two elderly navigators, 
seated in wicker chairs, were taking turns at 
peeping through a spy-glass into the hot blue 
of the sky, from which came the droning of 
a propeller. Both men were smoking, and 
on a little bamboo table under a slight awning 
stood a bottle of country wine and a couple 
of glasses. From time to time they nodded, 
grunted, and gesticulated at each other in a 
manner which suggested that, however friendly 


118 


GREY FISH. 


might be their mutual dispositions, they had 
little use for talk. 

The long, swarthy Catalan handed the spy- 
glass to his companion and shook his head. 
‘Senor Bruce, too mucho brave, mi capitan,' 
said he. 

‘ Verra true,’ agreed Captain Angus. 

‘ Young men have hot heids, ma freend. 1 
doot the lad wull brak his neck ere we 
get him back tae Spain. Eh 1 He ’s cornin’ 
doonl Abajo!' he interpreted, moving a 
short forefinger in a descending spiral, and 
then plunging it towards the deck to illustrate 
his meaning. 

The Little Bird sprang to his feet, conster- 
nation in his face as he stared skywards. 

‘ Hoots I ’ exclaimed the Shetlander ; ‘ ye 
needna fash yersel’. Little Bird. The man ’s 
no failin’. He’ll come doon on an even 
keel.’ 

The Spaniard snatched the telescope, and 
gazed intently at the tiny spot far above. 
The anxiety on his face relaxed. 

The whir of the propeller grew louder, 
then ceased for a time as the engine shut off, 
and the aeroplane grew rapidly larger to the 
vision. In graceful spirals, like a great bird, 
it descended till its twin floats — it was a sea- 
plane — were clearly visible. It seemed but 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


119 


a few moments later that it settled on the 
smooth surface of the harbour like a gull, then 
glided easily towards the land. 

Soon afterwards a boat shot out from the 
mole, and as it drew alongside the Marta, a 
young man scrambled aboard by the ladder. 
‘ Ten thousand feet I ’ he exclaimed with en- 
thusiasm as he came up to the table. ‘And 
I flew her myself all the time. Yon ’s a dandy 
machine. Captain Angus.’ 

‘ I ’m feared she wull be the death o’ ye, 
Mr Bruce,’ answered the old Scot. ‘We’ve 
been obsairvin’ ye wi’ verra conseederable 
anxiety.’ 

The other smiled at his countryman’s con- 
cern, but was not untouched by it. ‘ Rodriguez 
says I take to the air like a duck to water,’ 
he said with pardonable pride. ‘ After to-day 
he tells me he would trust me to fly his sea- 
plane anywhere.’ 

The Catalan rose from his chair and laid 
his strong hands affectionately on the young 
man’s shoulder. ‘ Senor Bruce,’ said he in 
his own tongue, ‘I do not approve of this 
flying madness of yours. Is there not excite- 
ment enough in the dangers of land and sea 
which you and I have experienced together ? ’ 

‘Plenty indeed, Pajarillo mio. And for a 
pair of amateurs we have not had such bad 


120 


GREY FISH. 


luck in hunting the grey Boche sharks that 
infest the seas.’ 

‘ We shall have better hunting yet,’ said the 
Catalan grimly, ‘ and my poor brother whom 
they drowned will be yet more deeply avenged. 
But in the air I cannot follow you. My 
nerves would never stand it.’ 

Bruce laughed. ‘ When did Pablo el 
Pajarillo begin to have nerves?’ he asked. 
‘ Come, we will dine ashore to-night, and cele- 
brate my successful flight. — Captain Angus’ 
— he dropped into English — ‘ you and Pajarillo 
here will do me the pleasure of sharing a 
dinner at the “ Fonda Coldn.” Afterwards we 
shall go and listen to the band on the plaza.’ 

They made a curious trio in the hotel 
dining-room — the sturdy old whaling- skipper, 
the Catalan ex-smuggler, and the young 
Scotsman. 

After dinner they went and sat under 
the trees on the Plaza de la Constitucion. 
At one end of the plaza a military band in 
bright uniforms played lively music, while up 
and down the wide square the cosmopolitan 
population of the little island port strolled 
and chatted, laughed and flirted, in the soft 
Southern night. Spanish officers in white 
tropical uniforms ; dark-eyed beauties whose 
white necks showed like ivory columns against 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


121 


black mantillas, flashing dangerous smiles 
behind their fans ; traders and seamen of 
various nations ; peasants in great straw hats ; 
girls of the people with bright-coloured ker- 
chiefs over their black locks — a motley, happy, 
chattering crowd, making their paseo in the 
moonlight. The warm air was filled with the 
odour of flowers and the pungent smell of 
cigarettes, across which came now and again 
a faint salt tang of the sea close at hand. 

Two men, well dressed in light summer 
suits of fashionable cut, and smoking cigars, 
passed, conversing earnestly, close to the seat 
whereon the three friends were resting. One 
was quite young; the other had left middle 
age behind. It was the younger who was 
speaking at the moment, and a phrase of 
his made Donald Bruce suddenly stiffen to 
attention. 

^ Bourn! Bourn!' the young man was 
saying. * Ach! es war wunderschon.' 

Bruce leaned to the Catalan. ‘ Quick, 
Pajarillo ; who are those men ? ’ 

The smuggler looked up and frowned. ‘ Por 
Dios, Senor Bruce, I do not know. But I 
have seen the fat, ugly one who is rubbing his 
hands at the door of the German Consulate.’ 

‘Sit here till I return,’ said Bruce. He 
rose quietly, and as he did so the two men 


122 


GREY FISH. 


sat down at a table a little farther along, and 
called a waiter. The young Scot stepped to 
the outer side of the belt of palms which 
encircled the plaza, and strolled on till he 
arrived directly opposite and a few feet away 
from where the men sat. He wished he knew 
more German, for, though the men were not 
talking loudly, their words were fairly distinct, 
and they evidently had no notion of being 
overheard. That isolated sentence which had 
arrested the Scot’s attention was ominous 
enough in the mouth of a Teuton, and its 
significance was by no means lessened by the 
scattered phrases the listener could now make 
out. 

‘ Down like a kettle of hot water. Bourn ! 
Wunderbar ! The boats tried to rescue the 
others, but we opened fire. Ach min; let 
the swine-dogs drown ! ” said I. Two girls 
were struggling in the sea quite close. 
Beautiful English girls — Ach Himmel, but so 
beautiful ! Gold hair, brown hair, like sea- 
weed in the water — close alongside — took hold 
of my hands — just in time. Lieutenant Kurt 
would have left them in the water. The poor 
Kurt — a martyr to duty — ha ! ’ 

The elder man laughed and drained his 
glass. ‘But where are they? Not on the 
ship, my good Von Lofer ! ’ 


THE ISI.E OF LADIES. 


123 


‘ Ach nein ! Not on the ship, Herr Schwarz 
— on the ship one must have discipline — but 
on the island — the dear little island of San 
Roque, where nobody lives, and nobody goes 
save we of the U-boats. What a romance I 
They are there, with old Becker to guard 
them till we return to-morrow night. We 
leave by midday.’ 

Bruce felt suddenly sick. He had had his 
back to the speakers from prudence, but he 
risked a glance at them now. The moonlight 
struck full on the flabby fat face of the older 
man, and Bruce saw the leer which he gave 
his companion. 

The waiter was casting glances at the Scot, 
and Bruce deemed it time to move. With 
a cold fury in his brain, he strolled on, mingling 
with the crowd, and presently returned to his 
companions. 

‘Pajarillo,’ said he in a level tone which 
surprised himself, ‘do you know an island 
called San Roque ? ’ 

‘ Cierto / But it is only an uninhabited 
rock, thirty leagues to the south-west.’ 

With frowning brows, staring absently at 
the crowd of promenaders, the Scot considered 
his plan. ‘ Pajarillo,’ said he at length, ‘ those 
two men are under the trees a little way along. 
The younger commands a U-boat. Sometime 


124 


GREY FISH. 


between now and to-morrow midday he re- 
joins his ship. Watch him like his shadow. 
Delay him by any means you can. Kill him if 
necessary ; but delay him ! — Captain Angus ’ 
— he spoke in English — ‘please go to the 
British consul. Inform him that sometime 
to-morrow, probably towards evening, a Hun 
submarine will land its officers on the island 
of San Roque, where two English girls are in 
their power.’ 

‘ And you, ma freend ? ’ 

‘If I have any luck, I shall have rescued 
those girls by to-morrow noon. If I don’t, 
captain, you must tell M‘Ilroys that I did my 
best. Good-bye ! ’ He stood up and shook 
hands with both companions, and without 
another word strode away. 

Bruce went straight to a hotel, where by 
good luck he found the man he sought at 
supper. 

‘ Rodriguez,’ said he, plunging into his 
subject, ‘at what figure do you value your 
seaplane as she lies ? ’ 

‘ She cost me forty thousand pesetas to 
build and fit.’ 

‘ Add your trade profit, and I will buy her 
from you to-night, and give you a draft on 
my firm immediately. If I am lucky, you 
will have the machine back by this time to- 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


125 


morrow, and you may keep a quarter of the 
purchase price for her hire.’ 

‘ Dios ! but you are in a hurry, my friend ! ’ 

‘A life-and-death hurry, Rodriguez. You 
know me. Is it a deal ? ’ 

‘You give a man indigestion!’ protested 
the other. ‘ If you must have the machine, 
have her. But smoke a cigarette, for pity’s 
sake, while I eat this orange, and tell me all 
about it.’ 

‘ Impossible. It is confidential. I will 
wite the draft now ; and when you have 
finished, Rodriguez, you must come down to 
the mole and make sure the Stormy Petrel is 
ready for a long journey.’ 

The inventor looked up from peeling his 
orange. ‘ How about the neutrality of Spain ? ’ 
he inquired. 

‘ My word of honour — it shall not be com- 
promised.’ 

‘Bastaf Then I ask no more. We have 
to be so particular, you know.’ 

II. 

It was with an extraordinary feeling of ex- 
hilaration that Donald Bruce an hour or two 
later, alone in the tiny body of the Stormy 
Petrel, felt the seaplane lift herself from the 
glassy surface of the harbour, and with engines 


126 


GREY FISH. 


roaring sweep up to meet the dawn. New as 
he was to this tricky business of flight, he 
understood perfectly that he was playing a 
desperate hazard. It was the wildest adven- 
ture to which he had yet set his hand, but he 
knew that if he failed, the doom of those two 
English girls in their island prison was sealed. 
Even if success crowned his daring, he realised 
that the girls themselves might lack the nerve 
to fall in with his plan. He dared not stop 
to consider eventualities, but flying high 
and fast, with every faculty tense upon his 
work, he soared towards his distant goal. 
The red sun rolled up out of the sea, and 
Bruce anxiously watched his compass to 
make sure of his landfall. So small a devia- 
tion from the course would suffice to make 
him miss the tiny islet, and send him faring 
like a lost bird over the wide waste of the 
Atlantic. 

That the sun was behind him proved his 
salvation. He had been flying about an hour, 
and was growing uneasy at the bare expanse 
of ocean, when, far on his port bow, he caught 
the gleam of the early light reflected from 
what seemed a little bank of cloud low down 
on the horizon. For a few minutes he was in 
doubt ; but as he turned towards the bank it 
took an outline, and he understood that, novice 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 127 

as he was, he had not allowed enough for the 
push of the easterly breeze. 

A little more, and the islet lay directly 
beneath him. He slid down to a thousand 
feet, and circled it, looking for a place to 
alight. On its western shore a little cove ran 
in among its rocks. Bruce knew nothing of 
the perils which the waters there might hold, 
but blessed his luck that the cove was on the 
lee side. Planing carefully down to ocean- 
level, he ran boldly in. On one side of the 
cove was a beach of white sand, and here he 
ran ashore. 

He now found himself confronted by an un- 
foreseen difficulty. He had no anchor in the 
seaplane ! He must, therefore, leave her on 
the beach. Fortunately the tide was falling, 
but it meant that for some hours, till the 
water rose again, he would be unable, what- 
ever happened, to re-embark. There was no 
help for it, however ; so, having divested him- 
self of his airman’s suit, he waited till the 
retiring water left his mount dry on the shore, 
then cautiously advanced to explore the 
island. 

The sandy beach had no great extent, and 
behind it was a jumble of rocks similar to 
those which on all other sides surrounded the 
cove. There seemed to be only one practi- 


128 


GREY FISH. 


cable track through these, and Bruce took it — 
to be unpleasantly surprised as he emerged on 
to higher ground by a hoarse challenge. 

‘Halt!’ 

He found himself faced at ten paces by the 
barrel of a rifle, levelled at him by a stocky, 
hard-featured fellow in naval uniform, standing 
knee-deep in tall grass. 

‘ Hande hoch ! ’ ordered the German. 

There was nothing else for it. The fellow 
had Bruce fairly covered, and though the Scot 
had a revolver, it was not in his hand, and 
might as well, therefore, have been in the sea. 
Inwardly raging at his easy capture, Bruce 
threw up his hands in obedience. His morti- 
fication was increased by the sight of two girls 
standing together at the door of a small tent 
a score of paces behind the German sailor. 

‘You are an Englander?' demanded the 
German roughly. 

‘Nein!' Bruce comforted his conscience 
by the reflection that no true-born Scot ever 
admitted that he was English. ‘ I speak 
very little German,’ he continued haltingly in 
that language. ‘ Can you speak Spanish, my 
man ? ’ 

‘Spanish? Bah! A German speaks Ger- 
man. So you are a Spaniard ! ’ 

‘ I have just come from Tenerife.’ 


THE ISLE OE LADIES. 


129 


‘ What are you doing here ? ’ 

The Scot’s wits were working at high 
pressure, recalling the few scattered phrases 
he had overheard on the plaza at Santa Cruz, 
to evolve from them, if he could, a plan of 
escape from this predicament. 

‘ I come from your officer, Herr von Lofer,’ 
said he boldly. 

The German, obviously surprised, lowered 
his rifle a few inches, but kept it ready. 

‘ That is not likely,’ he grunted. 

‘Nevertheless it is true.’ 

The two girls had approached. Bruce felt 
his ideas clearing. ‘ Your name is Becker, is 
it not ? ’ he inquired. 

‘ That is my name.’ 

‘Well, my good Becker, it is very uncom- 
fortable looking into the barrel of your rifle, 
which, after all, might go off. Do the ladies 
understand German ? ’ 

‘No. Like all the English, they have no 
kultur' 

‘So much the better. You see, Herr von 
Lofer happened to mention the delicate duty 
which he and Lieutenant Kurt had entrusted 
to you. You follow me, Becker ? ’ 

‘ Gewiss ! ’ 

Bruce resolved to take a header into the 
waters of untruth. ‘ Weil, Becker, you know 

I 


130 


GREY FISH. 


what young men are, I dare say. Herr von 
Lofer was boasting about the ladies whom he 
and his comrade had secured as prisoners, 
and I laid him a wager that I would see 
the ladies before he did, and judge for 
myself of the justice of his claims. You see, 
I have won my wager. It was agreed that 
you should be the time-keeper ; so, if you will 
have the goodness to sign a statement that I 
arrived here at 7 a.m., and that I saw the 
ladies under your charge, I shall have pleasure 
in handing you a note for twenty-five pesetas, 
before returning by the same road.’ 

To Bruce’s relief, as he concluded this in- 
ventive effort, a grin of comprehension spread 
over the stolid countenance of the German. 
‘ That is rather like my officer,’ said he. ‘ I 
have no objection to do that ; but I have 
neither paper nor pencil.’ 

‘ I have both,’ said Bruce. ‘ If I have your 
permission to lower my hands for the purpose 
of getting them, I shall give them to you.’ 

‘ Since you come from my officer, I am at 
your disposal, mein Herr, so far as my duty 
permits. Give me your notebook and I will 
sign.’ 

The Scot produced his pocket-book, opened 
it at a blank page, and presented it with a 
pencil to the Hun. The latter squatted on 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


181 


the ground Turkish fashion, his rifle laid upon 
his crossed knees, and got ready to write. 

‘ Hande hock ! ’ 

In his excitement Bruce let out the order 
with such a shout that the squatting German 
and the watching girls started alike. The 
German dropped the notebook and made a 
swift snatch at his rifle, but before he could 
raise it a bullet from the Scotsman’s revolver 
smashed his trigger-hand. Forthwith he threw 
up both arms in token of surrender. 

‘ Becker,’ said Bruce gravely, ‘ it would be 
wise not to take another chance like that. It 
might have been your head, you know. Keep 
your hands well up, if you wish to report to 
Lieutenant von Lofer.’ 

He turned to the girls and spoke in English. 
‘ Ladies, I have come to save you if I can. If 
you know where to lay hands on a piece of 
cord, we shall make this gentleman fast, and 
then we can consider what is the best course 
to follow.’ 

One of the girls was fair, the other dark, 
and in praising their good looks Von Lofer 
had not exaggerated. 

She of the golden hair ran back to the tent. 
The dark-eyed beauty came up to Bruce. 
Her colour was high. ‘ Can I help ? ’ 

‘ Can you use a revolver ? ’ 


132 


GREY FISH. 


‘Yes.’ She smiled a little shyly. 

‘ Then hold this one to his neck, while I tie 
him up. Shoot him like a dog if he resists. — 
Becker ’ — he touched the German’s shoulder — 

‘ you may lower your arms ; but if you attempt 
to resist, you are a dead man.’ 

Fair-Hair had brought a coil of cord. Bruce 
trussed up the prisoner with a choice variety 
of nautical knots, then tended the smashed 
hand, and finally picked up the rifle. 

‘I think that will do, ladies, and I’m 
awfully obliged for your help. May I intro- 
duce myself?’ He produced his card, and 
learned their names in turn. Fair- Hair was 
Miss Elfrida Fergusson, of Brighton; Dark- 
Eyes was the Honourable Evelyn Northburn, 
from Cape Town. 

‘ Ladies,’ said Bruce, ‘ we have about seven 
hours to make our arrangements. Barring 
miracles, those Boche blackguards will be back 
to-night. In seven hours the tide will float my 
seaplane down there in the cove. She will 
carry three at a pinch, and Tenerife is ninety 
miles away — say a couple of hours’ flying 
with the wind against us. You will come ? ’ 

‘ Oh Mr Bruce ! ’ The Honourable Evelyn, 
who had held the revolver a minute before 
with so steady a hand, suddenly broke down, 
and threw herself into her companion’s arms. 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


188 


Fair-Hair smiled bravely over her shoulder 
at the Scot. ‘ Last night we prayed,’ she said 
simply, ‘ and here you come, just like an angel 
of deliverance.’ 

* Oh, I say 1 ’ Bruce protested. ‘ I ’m not so 
steady on the wing as that, you know. In 
fact, as a flying-man, I ’m a mere amateur. 
There ’s quite a chance we may be drowned.’ 

‘There is the certainty that we should 
drown ourselves if we stayed here,’ said Miss 
Fergusson. 

‘ Let ’s go and look at the bus,’ said Bruce. 
He took an arm of each, and led them down 
to see his machine. They touched it caress- 
ingly, as a man might touch a dog that had 
saved him. Then for an hour they showed 
him the islet, and told him about the sinking 
of their ship. They were, it seemed, the sole 
survivors, the rest having been done to death 
by the pirates as they tried to escape in their 
boats. The Scotsman’s blood boiled at the 
recital. To prevent their dwelling on the 
hon’ors they had lived through, he told them 
something of his adventures in the campaign 
which he and the Little Bird had undertaken. 

‘I should like to see that Spaniard,’ said 
the Honourable Evelyn. 

‘ I hope you will, to-night. Miss Northburn,’ 
he answered. 


134 


GREY FISH. 


III. 

Lunch, and another walk along the ocean- 
girt rocks, and then, as they wandered on the 
north face of the islet, Fair-Hair gripped Bruce 
suddenly by the arm, and pointed far to sea- 
ward. 

Four or five miles out, but clear in the 
shining air, a white patch of foam was visible, 
and in the midst of it a tiny black line, making 
for the island. 

Bruce looked at his watch. Not for an 
hour yet would his seaplane float, and long 
ere that the devil-craft would be turning into 
the cove. ‘ Come ! ’ he said, and led them to 
the tent. Becker, all bound as he was, was 
standing looking out to sea, a smile of grim 
satisfaction on his hard face. Bruce whipped 
out a knife and cut the fellow’s bonds. 

‘ Becker,’ said he, ‘ if you wish your officers 
to find you alive, do exactly what you are 
told. Walk in front of us.’ They hurried 
down to the beach. ‘ Girls,’ said Bruce, ‘ we 
have got to haul the Stormy Petrel into the 
water. I should have thought of using this 
villain before.’ He showed them how to get 
the greatest purchase, and set Becker to work 
with his sound arm. He calculated they had 
twenty minutes. It was desperate toil, but 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


135 


the seaplane moved. In a quarter of an hour 
she was at the water’s edge. 

‘ One of you must run to the tent, and get 
all the wraps you can find,’ said Bruce ; and 
the Honourable Evelyn, her brown hair loose 
with her efforts, ran off. Bruce helped Fair- 
Hair into his air-suit, and made Becker remove 
his coat, which he appropriated. Then Miss 
Northburn returned with the German’s top- 
coat and a blanket — all she could find. Bruce 
wrapped her in the coat, and settled both girls 
in the tiny car, telling them how to keep clear 
of the controls. The water was now begin- 
ning to lift the floats. Revolver in hand, he 
took his seat in the pilot’s place, and ordered 
Becker to drag the seaplane into the water. 

The Hun obeyed, but having done so, stood 
in front of the machine, the water up to his 
middle, and grinned triumphantly. ‘You are 
too late, swine-dog Englishman. Look 1 ’ 

Bruce looked, and his heart came into his 
mouth. The submarine was turning into the 
mouth of the cove. Becker grabbed the fore- 
end of the nearest float to wrench it round, but 
the Scot dropped him with a bullet through 
the brain, and almost at the same moment 
jammed over the starting-lever. The propeller 
whirred behind him as the Stormy Petrel shot 
towards the oncoming U-boat. 


136 


GREY FISH. 


Would she rise? Would she rise with her 
threefold burden ? The cold drops ran down 
the pilot’s set face as they raced into the very 
arms of the enemy. He saw the men gathered 
on her deck. For a moment they seemed 
dazed with sheer surprise ; then a hasty order 
rang out, and rifles were levelled. And at 
that very moment, barely averting a collision, 
the seaplane shook the salt water from her 
heels, and soared into her proper element. 

A crackle of rifle-fire burst below them. 
Bullets pinged past their ears. Splinters flew 
from the outspread wings. But the Stormy 
Petrel kept the air. A white cloudlet burst 
into being a hundred yards in front. Another, 
and another. Shrapnel ! At one of them the 
slender fabric of the machine quivered as 
though she had struck some aerial obstacle. 
Then the cloudlets dropped behind. Bruce 
warily banked the seaplane round, and, like 
a homing pigeon, she flew for her distant 
nest. 

Looking backward and downward, he saw 
the U-boat was following. He looked at the 
girls huddled at his back, and they smiled. 
Gallant lasses ! On and on they flew, and 
the submarine dropped out of sight, but he 
knew that with glasses she could still keep 
them in view. 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


137 


Then, with a sudden dismay, he noted a 
change in the sound of his engines. Some- 
thing was overheated in that delicate mechan- 
ism of power. The distressing symptoms 
gradually increased. There was nothing for 
it ; he must descend. For another mile or two 
he held on, struggling against the inevitable. 
Then he planed down to the ocean. 

The girls looked anxious, but said not a 
word. ‘ The old lady does not like her load,’ 
Bruce assured them airily. ‘All the same, 
she’s got to do it. We’ll give her ten 
ininutes, then off she goes again.’ But in 
his heart he wondered if she would. 

Amateur as he was, he could find nothing 
wrong. The tanks were sound, and though 
his store of petrol was lessening at a somewhat 
alarming rate, there was plenty yet. Time 
was called by the bursting of a shell a few 
hundred yards wide of them. From where 
they rocked on the swell they could not see 
their pursuers, but the bursting shell needed 
no corroboration. Bruce started the engines 
again, and once more the Stormy Petrel sped 
for Tenerife. _ 

The next flight was shorter, the half-cooled 
engines rapidly heating again. Yet they made 
some miles, and Bruce judged it safe to take 
seven minutes’ rest. This time the warning 


138 


GREY FISH. 


shell fell closer, bursting in the water and 
splashing them with spray. Onward again, 
a still shorter flight, and once more the 
cruel mortification of a forced descent. Four 
minutes was all the pilot dared take this time ; 
and when he rose, the U-boat, deadly per- 
severing, was well in sight astern. Again the 
puffs of cloudlet told of shrapnel hurled after 
them. A fourth time they rose and sank. 

‘ Two minutes only, ladies,’ said Bruce gaily. 
He was perhaps a little hysterical, for the 
position was getting on his nerves. 

Said the Honourable Evelyn, ‘ I think 
there is a storm coming up. Do you see 
the clouds ahead, Mr Bruce ? ’ 

‘ Tenerife,’ said the Scot. ‘ And something 
else.’ 

‘ What ? ’ 

‘ Destroyers 1 Three of them. The Union- 
Jack for ever ! ’ This time he would not 
come down. The Stormy Petrel might break 
her heart, but she should fly till she dropped. 

And so she did. She very nearly made a 
nose-dive of it at the end, and they all got a 
salt-water wetting some three hundred yards 
from the last of three black destroyers tear- 
ing at full speed in line ahead, cutting the 
water in three white V’s with their foaming 
bows. The last of the three slowed down 


THE ISLE OF LADIES. 


139 


sufficiently to lower a boat, then raced after 
her companions. 

Notwithstanding the promptitude of their 
rescue, pilot and passengers were as near 
drowning when pulled aboard as they were 
ever likely to be. The girls came round first, 
and when Bruce at length opened his eyes in 
response to a stiff dose of cognac, he saw them 
comfortably bestowed in the sternsheets, on 
either side of the midshipman in charge. The 
Honourable Evelyn was wearing the midship- 
man’s coat, and they were dressed, for the 
rest, in a diverting combination of dry nautical 
garments obligingly subscribed by the crew. 

‘ Good - evening, sir,’ said the ‘ snotty ’ 
politely. ‘ I ’m afraid we can’t tow your bus 
back to Santa Cruz, but we’ll just hang 
around here till the boys come back. They ’re 
having good sport, by the noise.’ 

Heavy cannonading shook the air. 

‘You came up in the nick of time,’ said 
the Scot rather weakly. ‘ I ’m awfully obliged 
to you.’ 

‘Don’t mench ! ’ said the midshipman. ‘ It ’s 
thanks to that long-legged Dago up forrard. 
He’s a sport. It was he who pulled you out.’ 

Bruce raised himself on his elbow, and saw, 
erect in the fore-end of the launch, the gaunt 
figure of the Little Bird, shading his eyes with 


140 


etREY EISH. 


his horny brown hands while he watched in- 
tently the progress of the distant fight. 

‘ He and two or three more came aboard 
off Santa Cruz/ said the midshipman, lighting a 
cigarette. ‘ He was in a tremendous state of 
excitement. By great good luck we had an 
R.N.V.R. man on board who used to be a 
language teacher at some London show before 
he saw his way to better things, and, from 
what he could make out from Daddy Long- 
legs, the skipper of that U-boat yonder had 
chartered a shore boat to put him aboard. 
Your friend, who seems to have a kind of 
grudge against U-boats, tried to persuade 
them not to take on the job, but the Hun was 
paying them good money, and they wouldn’t 
listen to reason. So what does Daddy Long- 
legs do but get hold of another boat himself, 
and just as Mr Hun was about to board his 
ship, Daddy rams his boat hard amidships. 
The Boche got picked up by his own men 
after all ; but just at that minute, as luck would 
have it, we happened along in our destroyer, 
and instead of stopping to sink Daddy, as he 
had ordered his fellows to do, Mr Hun had to 
submerge at the double. The Dago and his 
countrymen hung on to what was left of their 
craft till we fished them out, and then he told us 
a story about some rendezvous at San Roque. 


THE ISI-E OF I, A DIES. 


141 


We thought at first it was bogey, but a few 
hours later we had it confirmed from a good 
quarter ashore. So here we are 1 ’ 

The cannonade grew fiercer than ever, 
and then suddenly ceased. The midshipman 
sprang up. ‘ I say,’ he exclaimed, ‘ they ’ve 
done Mr Hun in this time, I do believe ! 
Hurrah 1 ’ 

The boat’s crew burst into a cheer, and 
the Little Bird turned round with a gleam 
of white teeth. His eyes met Bruce’s. 

‘Come here, Pajarillo mio,' said Bruce in 
Spanish. ‘You have saved my life, and I 
have promised the ladies here to introduce you 
to them. Miss Northburn’ — he turned and 
spoke in his own tongue — ‘this is the brave 
companion of whom I spoke on the island.’ 

The Catalan leaned over the Scot and 
smiled, though he shook his head. ‘ Senor 
Bruce,’ said he, ‘ we have had the most magni- 
ficent adventure. But you will remember I 
told you there was too much danger in this 
flying business.’ 

‘ Danger,’ said Bruce, ‘ is the spice of life. 

‘ True,’ answered the Catalan, smiling again. 
‘ Peligro y amor, de la vida son la jU>r' 

‘ Pajarillo, I said nothing about amor.' 

‘You did not, seflor. Nevertheless, the 
rhyme requires it. And so does a man.’ 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 

I. 

N O ship ever looked a more helpless prey 
for a U-boat than the old schooner 
Marta, homeward bound from Tenerife to 
Malaga. Her scarred and ancient timbers 
cried aloud for the paint-pot; her sails were 
patched and parti-coloured ; and when she 
rolled to the swell, lolling slowly on her way, 
her hull below the water-line showed foul 
with weed. She had been lying for three 
months in the harbour of Santa Cruz in the 
Canaries, doing nothing apparent, her crew — 
— it was generally accepted — afraid to go 
home. When at last the lame old Shetlander 
in command of her declared to some shore 
acquaintances in the ‘Fonda Coldn’ that he 
was ‘ fed up ’ with the Canaries, and meant to 
get back to Spain, submarines or no sub- 
marines, there was a significant shrugging of 
shoulders. No one believed he would venture. 
On the day the Marta actually hoisted sail 
and stood out into the Atlantic, bets were 
freely offered on the mole at twenty to one 
that the ship would never see Mdlaga again. 
And yet, such is the perversity of fate, 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


143 


following the ordinary peace-time route of the 
Cape liners, she almost reached the Strait 
without sighting a periscope. She carried 
no wireless ; she was in touch with nothing 
and nobody that could help her — unless you 
count the poor protection of the yellow-and- 
red Spanish flag at her main ; and her gunless 
decks were littered with a miscellaneous assort- 
ment of island produce for which she had no 
room in her hold. 

‘ One might imagine our fellows had cleared 
the shark-boats out of the sea. Captain Angus,’ 
said the young Scotsman in an old blue jersey 
who stood at the wheel. 

‘ Ay, Mr Bruce. Imagination gangs a lang 
wey. But I’m thinkin’ the reality winna bear 
it oot. No yet.’ 

‘ I believe you will be disappointed if we 
don’t have an opportunity to try our little 
plan, captain ! ’ 

‘ Disappointed ? ’ The old Shetlander touched 
his false leg — memento of his encounter with 
a German mine. ‘ Mon, Donald, I ’m no 
lookin’ for adventures at ma age. I ’m no like 
your freend the Little Bird there, wha ’s auld 
eneuch to ken better, especially conseederin’ 
that his ain brither was drooned by a U-boat.’ 

The Little Bird had just emerged from 
behind a lot of banana-crates, stacked abaft 


144 


GREY FISH. 


the mainmast. He was carrying an oil- 
can. He set the incongruous article down 
on the deck, wiped his hands on his greasy 
overalls, and with oily fingers proceeded to 
roll a cigarette. 

‘ All in order, Pajarillo ? ’ asked Bruce in 
Spanish. 

‘All beautiful, Senor Bruce. And the rat- 
trap, too.’ Pajarillo laid one hand lovingly on a 
length of rope that passed along the ship’s side 
near the chains, suspended at about eighteen 
inches fi^om the deck by a curious arrangement 
of cords running on pulley-blocks. ‘ By this 
time to-morrow, if the wind holds, I shall be 
eating olla-podrida with my wife and family. 
Ay de mi! We have been too long separated, 
senor.’ 

Suddenly from the masthead rang a warning 
cry : ‘ Submarino / De d babor t ’ 

Pajarillo took the cigarette from his lips 
and stiffened to his full height. Captain 
Angus hobbled to the lee side of the ship and 
searched the ocean with his binoculars. 

‘Yonder she spouts — the ugly deill’ he 
grunted, as he passed the glasses to Bruce. 

A league or more away, approaching them 
boldly on the surface, was the sinister shape 
of a submarine. Angus whipped out a whistle, 
and gave three shrill calls. Immediately on 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


145 


the sound the Spanish crew tumbled up with 
all hands, and went running to various points 
of the ship. 

‘ Little Bird, ye Ve drilled them weel I ’ said 
the old skipper approvingly. 

Bruce translated the compliment. 

The Little Bird smiled, though his teeth 
were set. ‘ They are frightened, but they will 
do their work, Senor Bruce. I have told them 
what to expect if things go wrong. Oh, you 
can rely on them ! ’ 

‘ The question is,’ said Angus, ‘ wull they 
blaw us oot o’ the water first, an’ tak’ oor 
names an’ addresses efter, or wull they pey 
the Spanish flag the compliment o’ a veesit 
o’ inspection ? ’ 

Almost as he spoke a deafening explosion 
shook the air, and a shell burst a couple of 
cables’ length from the schooner’s bows. 

‘That means “Heave tol”’ said Angus. 
‘ Pass the word, Mr Bruce.’ 

Bruce gave the order to Pajarillo, who was 
nominal mate, and the Little Bird roared it 
out in his own tongue. In a minute or two 
the sails were backed, and the Marta lay 
rolling her old timbers in the swell, awaiting 
the Germans’ next command. 

The submarine, her guns trained on the 
schooner, approached within a quarter of a 

j 


146 


GREY FISH. 


mile, and signalled that she was sending a 
boarding-party. 

‘ Send away, ye lubbers ! ’ muttered Angus. 
‘Noo for the performance, Mr Bruce. Keep 
a cool held, an’ tell yersel’ it ’s only a rehairsal.’ 

The Little Bird had disappeared, and so had 
half the crew. The rest lowered the boarding- 
ladder over the ship’s side, and stood in line 
on deck, unarmed, behind the two Britishers, 
the picture of docile submission. 

The Germans had lowered a boat, whose 
approach to the schooner was covered by their 
guns. The boat drew alongside, and an officer 
stood up in the bows with a pointed revolver. 

‘ Hande hoch!' he cried. ‘ Subida las manos!' 

‘ The fule means “ Hands up ! ” ’ said Angus. 
Obediently he raised his own hands, and the 
rest followed his example. The Germans, a 
dozen in all, clambered aboard — two officers 
with levelled revolvers, and the others with 
fixed bayonets. They formed up on the 
Marta's deck near the chains where they had 
boarded. 

In halting Castilian the commander inquired, 
‘ Who is the captain of this ship ? ’ 

Angus caught the word capitan. ‘That’s 
me, ma mon,’ said he. 

‘ Ha ! ’ The German snorted gleefully. His 
eyes flamed. ‘ An English ship ! ’ 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


147 


‘ Nay. A Spanish ship, ye dirty pirate ! 
Canna ye see the flag?’ Captain Angus 
pointed to the Spanish colours at the mast- 
head. As he pointed he shouted, ‘ Ahoy ! ’ 
What happened next might have defled ex- 
planation, unless one had studied that curious 
arrangement of rope that ran along the Marta's 
side. Any one who had been standing at the 
foot of the after companion-way — down which 
the end of the rope was led through blocks 
rigged at the deck-level — would have seen 
half-a-dozen hairy-armed Andalusians tallying 
on the rope and hauling as though a golden 
galleon of King Philip were coming up at 
the other end. But the Hun officers and 
men saw nothing of these concealed scene- 
shifters. They only received the effect of that 
hidden cause. And the effect was that, with 
almost the swiftness of a scythe-stroke, a half- 
inch steel cable swept across their bit of deck 
from rearward of them, at a height of about 
eighteen inches from the deck, catching them 
with paralysing force in the calves of their 
legs just behind the knees, and tipping every 
man Jack of them, officers and all, on their 
backs on the Marta's deck, within a couple 
of seconds of Angus’s ‘ Ahoy ! ’ 

A shot or two from the German officers’ 
revolvers went off in the tumble, but no 


148 


GREY FISH. 


damage was done thereby. Almost simul- 
taneously the banana-crates abaft the main- 
mast slid apart, and when the tumbled Teutons 
had picked themselves up, the two officers 
found themselves covered in their turn by the 
levelled revolvers of Angus and Bruce, while 
in the space between the banana-crates squatted 
the bony figure of the Little Bird behind a 
Lewis gun, which completely commanded the 
entire group of Germans. 

‘Hands up, Fritz, and quick about it!’ 
shouted Bruce. 

The pirates, seeing themselves trapped, lost 
no time in obeying. 

The Shetland captain, his ruddy face ruddier 
than ever, and his bushy brows bent in a grim 
frown, turned to the senior of the two officers, 
who had the air of a man of some considera- 
tion. ‘ Mon,’ said he, ‘ ye look tae me like the 
skipper o’ yon murder-ship. I dinna ken, and 
I dinna greatly care. But ye can tell yer 
blackguards in the boat below to pull awa’ 
back to yer ship, an’ say, wi’ ma compli- 
ments, that if they pit so much as a rifle- 
bullet aboard this hooker afore we fetch 
Gibraltar, there ’s no a cut-throat o’ ye here 
that wull ever see yer Kaiser twist his mous- 
taches again. Dae ye onnerstaund that ? ’ 

The German, pale with wrath and humilia- 


CATCHING A TARTAR, 


149 


tion, uttered the one word ‘ Vorwdrts ! ' and 
looked towards his men. There was a 
moment’s hesitation; then one burly fellow 
made a bull-like rush for the old Scot. Before 
he had covered three yards Donald Bruce 
dropped him with a bullet through the heart. 
The rest stood still. 

‘Ye skulkin’ cooard!’ said Angus. ‘Noo 
dae my biddin’, quick 1 ’ 

‘Do I understand,’ asked the German in 
perfect English, ‘ that you actually propose to 
keep me and my men as hostages on board 
your wretched wind-jammer, to secure yourself 
against sinking by my comrades over there ? ’ 

‘ Ye ’ve got it pairfectly,’ said Angus. 

‘ And if I refuse to send such a message to 
my ship ? ’ 

‘ In that case I ’ll pass the wor-rd tae ma 
freend there wi’ the pop-gun.’ Angus nodded 
in the direction of the Little Bird. 

‘You Scottish blockhead!’ exclaimed the 
officer, still, however, keeping his hands well 
above his head. ‘ Do you know that this is 
not war, but rank piracy ? You are under the 
Spanish flag, and by all the laws of nations 
you should be hanged. When we arrive at 
Zeebrugge I shall make it my business to 
teach you how to behave to a German officer 
and a Prussian count.’ 


150 


GREY FISH. 


‘I’m no gangin’ that wey,’ retorted Angus 
coolly ; ‘ and if ye dinna dae what I say afore 
ye’re ten seconds aulder, the next that wull 
“count” ye wull be the muckle black deil 
when he aups his front -door to bid ye 
welcome. Ane — twa — three ’ 

With a growl like a trapped beast, the 
Prussian called out an order, and almost 
immediately the plash of oars was heard as 
the boat which had brought him and his 
companions pulled away from the schooner. 

‘ Noo, Mr Bruce,’ said Angus, ‘ if ye ’ll pass 
the word tae thae Dagos o’ oors to tie up 
this bunch o’ scoondrels, we’ll be gettin’ on 
oor road. Have them oot, ane at a time, an’ 
keep the Little Bird coverin’ the rest. Start 
wi’ the officers.’ 

The order was given, and carried out with 
methodical thoroughness by the Spanish crew 
under Bruce’s direction. The Germans were 
roped together in a batch right in front of the 
machine-gun, where the Little Bird remained 
at his post, watching the proceedings with a 
satisfied smile. Meanwhile not a sign came 
from the submarine, which had taken her boat 
aboard again. 

‘ I doot she ’s puzzled,’ said Angus to Bruce. 
‘ She kens we mean business ; an’ tae ma 
thinkin’ we ’ve bagged her skipper. She darena 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


151 


leave him for fear o’ the Kaiser, an’ she 
darena come to fetch him for fear o’ the Little 
Bird. Oh ay, she’s got a heid-full to think 
aboot ! ’ 

The younger man laughed, but he did not 
altogether share the captain’s optimism. The 
Marta was forging ahead again before a good 
breeze, and the U-boat, like a watchful shark, 
was following steadily in her wake. A few 
miles to starboard the African coast loomed 
like a cloud on the horizon. 

‘ I wish it was day coming on, instead of 
night,’ said Bruce. 

‘ Hoots, son ! dinna fash yersel’. Mon, 
Donald, it’s ma opeenion we’ll hae some 
fine sport the nicht. Gang an’ tak’ a look 
at the chart.’ 

Donald did so, and observed with interest 
various complicated patterns of dotted lines 
and digits, from which he perceived that the 
coast just to the east of them was edged with 
a series of banks shoaling to two fathoms, and 
in places even less. 

‘Aweel?’ said Captain Angus when he 
returned. 

‘You’re not going to run us ashore, 
captain ? ’ 

‘ Nay ; I ’m no sunk that low, Mr Bruce. 
But I ’m gaein’ to gie Mr Hun the nicht o’ 


152 


GREY FISH. 


his lifetime. Ye see, if my supposeetion is 
correct, there ’s nobbut a young lad in trainin’ 
left in chairge o’ that pirate, an’ when he 
obsairves the course we ’re makin’ he ’ll be sair 
puzzled. But he ’ll think we ken where we ’re 
gaein’, an’ he’ll tell hiinsel’ that where we 
can float he can float. An’ that ’s juist where 
yon little Hun wull be mistaken, if I ’m ony 
judge o’ a ship. But what’ll fash him still 
waur wull be that he winna ken but what 
we’re makin’ for some spot where oor ain 
folk may hae a warship hidden up a creek, an’ 
he’ll ken verra weel that if a warship comes 
oot efter him, there’s nae depth o’ water for 
him to duck his heid in. And a’ the time 
he daurna quit his dear captain an’ count. 
Oh, he ’ll fret sair wi’ the heidache the nicht 1 ’ 

‘ Suppose we touch bottom ourselves,’ said 
Bruce. 

‘ Then the passengers wull hae to get oot 
an’ push,’ answered Angus with a grin. 
‘ Starboard helium, there ! ’ 

II. 

So the Marta squared away for the coast, 
leaving the sunset flaming on her wake, and 
the U-boat duly followed in her track, some- 
times ranging up so close that a biscuit might 
have been tossed from one deck to the other. 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


153 


Once the captive German commander began 
to shout directions from the Marta's deck, but 
Angus cut him short. 

‘ If ye canna keep yer mooth shut, I ’ll hae 
to muzzle ye,’ said he. ‘A muzzle wudna 
look weel on a Prussian count, ye ken.’ 

The Hun swore in his own language, but 
gave no further orders. 

The sun went down into the ocean, and the 
stars gleamed out in the purple night sky. 
Bruce and the Little Bird relieved each other 
from time to time at the Lewis gun. Supper 
was served to the prisoners where they were, 
and blankets were given them, though the 
night was warm in that subtropical latitude. 

A little after midnight Captain Angus was 
standing by the helmsman, while the Little 
Bird, leaning on the rail near, was rolling 
cigarettes, and smoking them as fast as they 
were rolled. Suddenly the Spaniard uttered an 
exclamation, and laying his big hand on the 
captain’s shoulder, pointed astern. 

The Shetlander followed the pointing arm, 
and nodded. ‘ Si, si. Verra guid. Muyhien. 
Top - hole. Little Bird I ’ He clapped the 
Spaniard on the back. 

In the dim starlight could be faintly dis- 
cerned the shape of the submarine ; but every 
minute, as they watched and the Marta glided 


154 


GREY FISH. 


onward through the night, the shape grew 
fainter and more distant, and presently it was 
no longer visible. 

‘Rin an’ tell Mr Bruce we’ve hooked oor 
fish,’ said Angus. 

The Little Bird’s English vocabulary was 
unequal to this, but he caught at the name of 
Bruce, and moved off with a chuckle. Before 
he reached the spot, however, where the 
younger Scot was mounting guard with the 
machine-gun, a blaze of white light suddenly 
enveloped the Marta from stem to stern. In 
the dazzling beam every rope and spar stood 
out as clearly as by day. The light vanished as 
swiftly as it had come, and the night seemed 
more dark than before. There was no sound 
but the steady wash of the water against the 
schooner’s sides, and the slow creak of the 
rigging. A quarter of an hour passed thus. 
Then the searchlight dazzled them again, and 
from the blackness outside it a hoarse chal- 
lenge roared through a megaphone. 

‘ Marta, ahoy ! Heave to, or I sink you ! ’ 

‘ Ay, ay, sir ! ’ shouted Angus gleefully. 
‘ Mon, Donald, they ’re British 1 Heave her 
to, an’ quick’s the word. Ower wi’ the 
ladder.’ 

Scarcely had the schooner’s way stopped 
when a boat bumped alongside. A slim sub- 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


155 


lieutenant tumbled aboard at the head of half- 
a-dozen seamen, and stood a moment staring 
at the group of captured Germans. Captain 
Angus stepped forward and saluted rigidly. 

‘ What the blazes is this, captain ? ’ inquired 
the lieutenant. 

‘ It ’s juist a few veesitors, makin’ a trip 
tae Gib, sir.’ In a few words Angus re- 
counted the adventure of the evening. 

‘Well, I’m dashed!’ said the lieutenant. 
His blue eyes shone with merriment. ‘You 
ought to be an admiral, captain. Been in the 
Service ? ’ 

‘Only the mine-sweepers, till I got this.’ 
Angus touched his artificial leg. 

‘ “ Only,” ’ repeated the young officer. ‘ God 
bless you, captain I that “ only ” is a mighty 
big word. We had a tip that there was a 
shark-ship working off the coast here, but 
this beats cock-fighting ! ’ 

‘ It ’s none sae bad, sir,’ said Angus 
modestly. 

‘And we actually thought you were in 
league with her ! ’ 

‘ As for that,’ said the old Shetlander, ‘ ye ’re 
none sae far oot o’ your reckonin’. For we 
left her stuck on a sand-bank aboot a league 
tae the south’ard o’ this verra spot.’ 

‘ The devil you have I ’ 


156 


GREY FISH. 


‘The deil we hae indeed, sir,’ said Angus 
politely. ‘Ye’ll get her if ye’re quick, afore 
the tide floats her off.’ 

The lieutenant turned. ‘ Hear that, men ? 
Three cheers for the Marta ! Hip, hip, 
hurrah I ’ 

The bluejackets gave them lustily, and 
the lieutenant, springing into the schooner’s 
shrouds, signalled rapidly to his ship. He 
was still in the rigging when the searchlight 
swung round, leaving the schooner in dark- 
ness. Almost before the men of the Marta had 
picked out the far-off outline of the U-boat, 
now caught in the ray, there was a thunderous 
roar and a leaping tongue of flame from close 
aboard. Another and another. 

Angus stood staring through his binoculars. 

‘After you, captain,’ said the lieutenant, 
jumping down. 

The Shetlander handed over the glasses. 
‘ She ’s done,’ said he. ‘ Thae gunners o’ 
yours are proper war economists, I ’m thinkin’. 
It ’s Kamerad a’ roon’, sir.’ 

The lieutenant looked. ‘ The white flag — 
and she never fired a shot ! ’ he cried. 

‘ It ’s a wise fish that kens when it ’s hooked, 
sir,’ said Angus. ‘ What wull we dae wi’ the 
twelve scallywags trussed up on deck ? I was 
hopin’ your commandin’ officer wud tak’ 


CATCHING A TARTAR. 


157 


them ower. What wi’ the food economy cam- 
paign, an’ the onsairtainties o’ navigation, 
they ’ll be a wee bit in oor wey on the Marta' 

‘We’ll take care of them for you, captain. 
And if I’m not mistaken, my skipper will 
keep an eye on you as far as the Rock. Why, 
you might land another fish before you get 
home — such an innocent-looking old wind- 
jammer as you have.’ 

‘ I ’d be muckle obleeged tae ye, sir, for yer 
ship’s company. I ’m gettin’ an auld man, ye 
ken, an’ it’s nairvous wark aroon’ the Strait 
the noo.’ 

‘ I believe you ’re winking, you wicked old 
Scot,’ the lieutenant said. ‘ Never mind. 
When we all get to Gib with our boodle, 
we’ll have you and your bold buccaneers 
ashore, and we ’ll celebrate the occasion as it 
ought to be celebrated.’ 

Which they did. 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


I. 

‘ ^T^HIS is a bad finish to a good voyage, 
Senor Bruce.’ 

The sun-tanned old Catalan crooked his 
elbow round the tiller of the open boat, while 
with his nervy hands he sheltered a sulphur- 
match from the wind and lit a cigarette. 

By great good luck not a man of the crew 
had been lost when the poor old schooner 
MaHa, of Malaga, had been hit by the coward 
torpedo. Every one of the Andalusian crew 
was either in this boat or in the other, which, 
at about a mile distance, was also making for 
the Spanish coast. Still, it was hard luck 
losing the ship within a league or two of 
home. 

‘The brutes must have seen us put in at 
Gibraltar,’ said Donald Bruce. The young 
Scot was feeling very sick from the horrible 
shock of the explosion, just a quarter of an 
hour before. ‘ If they knew how we landed 
that pirate crew as prisoners on the Rock, 
we should get short shrift, Pajarillo mio' 

The Catalan blew out a mouthful of smoke, 
and smiled. There was a look of rugged 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


159 


philosophy about his deep-lined face. ‘The 
trumps go round the table, Senor Bruce, We 
have none to-day.’ 

They had none, indeed. A hundred yards 
away from them a periscope poked up sud- 
denly from the water, and the ugly shape of a 
submarine emerged like an evil fish from the 
blue depths. With one accord the Anda- 
lusians ceased rowing. 

The U-boat closed, and an officer and 
several men appeared on her gleaming wet 
deck. Speaking in Castilian, the officer 
called out, ‘Who is the captain of that 
schooner ? ’ 

‘ I am,’ answered the Scot, standing up in 
the steimsheets. ‘ Keep still, Pajarillo ! They 
are going to take the captain prisoner.’ 

‘No, ^or Dios! It is I who am the cap- 
tain ! ’ cried the Little Bird, drawing himself 
up proudly as he faced the German. 

The latter smiled sardonically. ‘As there 
seems some doubt on the point, you shall both 
come aboard here, and we will examine your 
claims at leisure.’ 

‘ Senor comandante,' said Pajaidllo with 
dignity, ‘ you have sunk, in Spanish territorial 
waters, a Spanish ship, sailing under the flag 
of Spain.’ 

The Hun spat viciously into the sea. 


160 


GREY FISH. 


‘That for your Spanish flag and your terri- 
torial waters ! Come aboard, you dogs ! before 
I hurry you with a machine-gun.’ 

There was no help for it, and the two men 
boarded the shark-ship. 

‘ Clear off, the rest of you ! ’ ordered the 
German ; and the terrified boat’s crew lost 
no time in obeying. Then he turned fiercely 
on his prisoners. ‘ Now tell me, quick, 
which of you is the captain of that wind- 
jammer ? ’ 

‘ I am,’ said Bruce. 

‘ I am,’ said Pajarillo. 

Captain Angus, it must be understood, was 
in the other boat, half-way now to the Spanish 
shore. 

‘ Curse you ! ’ exclaimed the Hun. He 
looked keenly at the two men, and his cruel 
eyes rested on the younger. ‘ You have the 
look of an English swine-dog,’ said he. ‘ Are 
you one ? ’ 

‘ I am a Scotsman,’ was the reply. 

‘ So much the worse. You have just come 
from Gibraltar. You need not deny it, for 
we have followed you. Tell me now the truth, 
and I will spare your wretched lives. Tell me 
lies, and I leave you to the fishes. How long 
were you in Gibraltar ? ’ 

‘ Two days,’ said Bruce. 


CAPTAIN CARI.OTTA. 


161 


‘ What regiments are quartered there ? ’ 

‘ I am a Scotsman.’ 

‘ That is your answer ? ’ 

‘ You asked for the truth. You have it.’ 

‘ Ha ! You are insolent ? We will see how 
far an Aberdeen terrier can swim.’ The Ger- 
man burst into a guffaw at his own humour, 
and turned to the Little Bird. ‘ What regi- 
ments are in Gibraltar, old rascal ? ’ 

The Catalan took his cigarette from his lips, 
and bowed. ‘I am the Scotsman’s friend, 
senor comandante' 

The Hun stamped on the steel deck. 
‘ Understand, fool, if you do not answer, you 
die. Answer truthfully, and you shall live — 
on the word of a Prussian officer.’ 

‘ Senor comandante, I find the security 
insufficient.’ 

‘ Pajarillo mio,' said Bruce in the Catalan 
dialect, ‘ you are a loyal man, but you are not 
British. Save yourself if you will.’ 

‘ Senor,’ the old man answered, ‘ I have 
served with you for British gold and for 
private vengeance. Let them drown me as 
they drowned my brother Pedro. It is better 
to die a man than to live a traitor.’ 

The two men clasped hands. 

‘The water is warm at this time of year,’ 
said the German. ‘We will see whether 

E 


162 


GREY FISH. 


the Spanish smuggler or the Scotch terrier 
can swim the longer. I am going to sub- 
merge.’ He shouted a harsh order to his 
men, and followed them below with a cruel 
smile. The water-tight door slid to behind 
them. 

‘ Courage, Senor Bruce ! ’ said the Catalan. 
‘ Never say die till you are dead. Slip your 
arms into this.’ He pulled out a contrivance 
of india-rubber, and began to slip it over his 
companion’s arm as the U-boat settled lower. 

‘ Never ! ’ Bruce jerked himself free. ‘ Put 
it on yourself. Quick ! ’ 

The water was almost up to the deck. 

‘We shall tear it if we struggle. You are 
young ; I am old. Put it on.’ 

‘ Never I In God’s name, put it on ! ’ 

‘Vayaf I will.’ 

The Spaniard slipped his arms swiftly into 
the places provided, and putting his lips to a 
valve, blew hard. The water swirled about 
their legs. It was up to their middle. It 
swept them off their feet. They were swim- 
ming for their lives in the eddy left by the 
vanished submarine. 

But the Little Bird had blown just enough 
air into the safety-waistcoat before the deck 
left them unsupported. Both men were strong 
swimmers. 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


163 


‘ Keep yourself going for a minute, senor,’ 
said Pajarillo. ‘The more air I can blow 
into this affair, the more it will help us.’ He 
blew till his brown face was red, and he 
gasped for breath, resting on the water. 

‘ That is better 1 ’ said he. ‘ If Gibraltar lost 
us our ship, it has perhaps saved us our lives. 
1 saw this in a shop in the Ramp Santa 
Caterina. We will wear it in turn, and per- 
haps we shall be picked up ! ’ 

All that brave men could do they did, 
changing their frail support from time to time 
as one or the other grew weary. But it was 
a desperate chance at the best, and they knew 
it. The sparkling waves mocked the agony 
of their struggle, waiting till exhaustion should 
yield them an easy prey. 

A couple of hours passed, and they were 
still afloat, their lungs toiling, their hearts 
breaking with the strain. Bruce, who was 
wearing the waistcoat now, realised that the 
end was at hand. 

‘ Take it,’ he gasped. ‘ God save you ! I 
am done.’ 

‘ Fight 1 ’ came the panting reply. ‘ A ship ! 
Fight I’ 

But the younger man struggled no more. 
The blue waves rolled over him. For him 
the fight was over. 


164 


GREY FISH. 


II. 

Had he died? Was this the awakening 
from death ? He suffered exquisite pain. He 
was conscious dimly of a face — a most lovely 
face — which looked into his own. Slowly, 
between swooning and waking, he took in 
details of the watching face — black eyes 
shadowed with black lashes, black eye-brows 
beautifully arched, a pure ivory skin, masses 
of glossy black hair, red lips half-parted in a 
smile of triumph, and little teeth so white, so 
smooth, so sharp 1 

The face turned from him, and he heard 
words in a strange tongue. Something was 
put to his lips, and life coursed through his 
veins. The face bent over him again, and 
the voice he had heard spoke to him. ‘Do 
you speak English ? ’ 

His own voice would not come, but he tried 
to move his head. 

‘ I have saved you, my handsome English- 
man,’ said the face — ‘ you and your companion.’ 

When, after a long sleep, Bruce awoke, 
Pajarillo was sitting beside his bunk. There 
was an odour of cigarette-smoke in the little 
white cabin. 

‘ Good-evening, Senor Bruce,’ said the Little 
Bird. ‘ As you see, we are saved.’ 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


165 


‘ Where are we ? ’ asked the Scot. ‘ I 
dreamed, Pajarillo. There was a face — a dark, 
beautiful face.’ 

‘ Oh, la-la ! ’ The Catalan smiled. ‘ Young 
men always dream of beautiful faces. But 
indeed your dream was true. And it is 
Captain Carlo tta herself who has saved us.’ 

‘ Captain Carlotta ? ’ 

‘ You never heard of her ? ’ 

‘ Never.’ 

‘ But she is famous, my friend, in the 
IMediterranean. She is a Sicilian, a heroine of 
romance. She served her apprenticeship at 
sea — dressed as a boy, they say, much of the 
time. And one day she passed her examina- 
tion under the Italian authorities, and was 
given the command of a ship. ’Tis said 
there are few better sailors than she in 
Italy.’ 

Donald Bruce sat up. The Little Bird 
helped him out of the bunk, where he had 
lain rolled in blankets, and gave him his 
clothes, already dried. Bruce took some food 
that was placed beside the bunk, and accom- 
panied the Little Bird on deck. The ship, a 
steamer of some three thousand tons, was 
running eastwards into the eye of a golden 
sunrise. 

An officer came out of the charthouse just 


166 


GREY FISH. 


below the bridge. An officer — yes ; but the 
officer was a woman. Her face was that 
which Bruce had seen in his moment of 
returning life. The black masses of her hair 
escaped a little round the white cap with gold 
braid which she wore. Gold braid and gold 
buttons adorned her white uniform, in which 
a short skirt took the place of trousers ; and 
her feet were encased in neat brown boots, 
surmounted by tight-laced gaiters. 

She smiled as she came forward, showing 
the little, white, sharp teeth. ‘You are better 
now ? ’ The English words were spoken with 
just a pleasant accent of strangeness. 

Bruce took the small, shapely brown hand 
that was extended, and on the moment’s 
impulse kissed it. A man’s emotions are a 
little out of hand when he has just been 
rescued from almost certain death. 

‘ Captain Carlotta, we thank you from the 
bottom of our hearts ! ’ Feeble enough words, 
he felt. 

‘ Rather thank the good God who gave you 
strong arms to swim, and strong hearts not 
to despair,’ answered the girl — she was little 
more. ‘Your big friend here, whose speech 
we cannot understand much, was at his last 
gasp, but he was keeping your head out of the 
water. He is a proper man 1 ’ 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 167 

‘He is indeed a loyal comrade, signorina. 
May I ask whither we are bound ? ’ 

‘To Naples, the city of light and love. 
Signor Inglese, unless we are unfortunate 
with the submarine which has been following 
us these last twelve hours past — the same, I 
fancy, which sank your ship.’ 

‘ Following you ? ’ Bruce stared at the com- 
posure with which she made the remark, as if 
to be followed by a deadly shark-ship were the 
most ordinary thing. 

The white teeth showed again. ‘We have 
fired at them twice. They do not understand 
us very well, but they are very determined. 
Well, we shall see! Signore, a man like you 
should be in a fine uniform. Why are you 
not?’ 

The Scot flushed furiously. ‘ Signorina, you 
have saved our lives, and you have the right to 
ask. I am in the service of M‘Ilroy, M‘Ilroy, 
and M‘Allister, a firm of some repute in Spain 
and London. I had some special knowledge 
of the Spanish seaports, and my employers 
considered I could best serve the cause 
for which we all fight by remaining for 
the present in their employ, though in a 
different capacity. Thanks to their liberality, 
my friend here, who has his own reasons for 
hating the Huns, has been associated with me 


168 


GREY FISH. 


for the past six months in a little amateur 
campaign against the U-boats. Signorina, up 
to the present fortune has stood by us, and 
we have been the means of bringing to de- 
struction four of these ships, and of causing 
grave inconvenience and annoyance to several 
others. I assure you we have done our 
best.’ 

A ripple of laughter came from the red lips. 
The black eyes flashed, and the small brown 
hand shot out. ‘ I greet a good comrade ! 
The good God must have meant to bring us 
together. The same words with which you 
have described your labours, caro signore 
mio, would precisely describe my own dur- 
ing the same period. Come here, both of 
you !’ 

She led the way into the chartroom. 
Screwed on the table was a dial, very similar 
to that of a compass, save that this had a 
double ring of figures. The inner circle corre- 
sponded to the ordinary points of the compass ; 
the outer was marked in kilometres and 
fractions of kilometres. The dial had two 
pointers. At the moment the shorter one 
pointed to W.N.W., and the longer indicated 
six kilometres. The hands moved slowly as 
they watched, swinging slightly forward and 
backward from the points named. 


CAPTAIN CARI.OTTA. 


169 


Captain Carlotta lit a cigarette, and smiled 
at the young Scot. ‘ When this little instru- 
ment has sunk ten U-boats I have promised 
to marry my lover, who has invented it. He 
has set it to run for twenty thousand kilo- 
metres, but he keeps the secret of its power 
locked in his brain. On the day he marries 
me, he will offer the secret to the Italian 
Government, and the Kaiser will have to 
think of a new frightfulness.’ 

Bruce translated this to Pajarillo, and the 
two men gazed with an intense interest at 
the httle dial, from which a wire ran down 
under the table through the chartroom floor. 

Bruce looked up at the beautiful dark face 
of the girl-captain. ‘ Pardon, signorina ; why 
not offer it to your Government at once ? ’ 

‘ I will tell you. My lover is an Anarchist. 
A foolish fellow — yes, but clever as the devil. 
If he were not my lover, nothing would make 
him offer his invention to any Government in 
the world. He does not believe in govern- 
ment. But he submits to mine I ’ The red 
lips laughed again. ‘ Pietro was a bank clerk. 
He invented this to amuse himself, but he 
refused to do anything with it. Then I said, 
if he did not fight for Italy himself, and give 
me his machine to try against our enemies, I 
would never speak to him again. He raved. 


170 


GREY FISH. 


and stormed, and pleaded ; he threw himself 
on his knees. But he was very much in love, 
so I had him in my hands.’ She opened 
and shut her little brown hands dramatically. 

‘ And now he is doing penance for his anarchism 
on the mine-sweeper Elenetta, while I am 
experimenting with his invention. I assure 
you it is very bad for the Boches.’ 

Bruce started. ‘ Did you say the Elenetta ? ’ 

‘ But certainly.’ 

‘ Do you love this Pietro, signorina ? ’ 

The black eyes gave him a strange glance. 
‘ One serves one ’s country. Signor Inglese.’ 

Bruce spoke to the Little Bird in Spanish. 
The old Catalan, with a puzzled frown, stood 
contemplating the young Sicilian woman. 

‘ Tell her,’ he said curtly. 

‘ On our way to Malaga, signorina, we were 
convoyed into Gibi’altar by a British cruiser. 
While we lay there, the news came in that 
an Italian mine-sweeper, the Elenetta, had 
been sunk in the Strait by a U-boat, and that 
all hands were lost. One man, who died after 
rescue, said the German crew leaned over for 
some minutes, and laughed as they watched 
the men drown.’ 

Bruce watched the dark, lovely face as he 
dealt this blow. It did not change colour, 
but a new gleam came into the black eyes. 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


171 


‘Pietro was a poor kind of man,’ she said 
deliberately. ‘ But it was 1 who made him 
go to sea. And it is I who will avenge him. 
Oh, Sant’ Iddio, I will avenge him well ! ’ 

III. 

Captain Carlotta glanced at the dial, took 
up a speaking-tube which lay beside it, and 
gave an order to the wheelhouse above. The 
ship immediately began to swing round in a 
wide arc. She picked up her own wake, and 
went back along it at full speed. Captain 
Carlotta sat down at the table, watching the 
dial, and from time to time taking the cigarette 
from her lips to give an order through the 
tube. Presently she threw away the cigarette, 
and spoke through a telephone. ‘ That is for 
the gunners. There will be fighting soon,’ she 
calmly announced. Now into the speaking- 
tube, now into the telephone, she spoke with 
curt, terse phrases as the hands swung on the 
dial, and the steamer swung this way or that 
to her order. 

With a suddenness which made the two 
rescued men start,, a gun roared from the 
vessel’s deck, shaking her from stem to stern. 
Captain Carlotta looked up with a gleam of 
the white teeth. 

‘ Missed I ’ said she, pointing to the dial. 


172 


GREY FISH. 


‘ But we frightened him. He is running away.’ 
The dial -fingers were in steady movement. 

‘ But he is only two kilometres away, and if 
he dives, we are the faster ship. Yes, he has 
dived ! Ebbene, we shall be nearer when he 
comes up.’ 

‘ Santiago ! it is good hunting, Senor 
Bruce 1 ’ muttered Pajarillo. ‘ What is it 
she says ? ’ 

Bruce, in a low tone, informed him. 

The Catalan clicked his tongue. 'Maria 
purisima ! what a woman ! ’ 

‘ Seven hundred metres,’ said Captain Car- 
lotta without looking from the dial. ‘The 
German is uneasy. He goes very slowly 
now. Oh, you were clever, my poor Pietro ! 
Presently the Boche will come up to look 
for us, and, if God is good, we shall ram 
him.’ 

A slight frown of deep attention puckered 
the smooth forehead as she pored over the 
terrible dial. The black eyes burned beneath 
their long lashes, but the slim brown fingers 
which held the telephone and the tube showed 
not the faintest tremor. For a tense ten 
minutes they waited thus, the ship’s engines 
slowly throbbing, and the dial-pointers almost 
stationary. 

Then a terrific report like a thunder-clap 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


173 


crashed in their ears, followed instantly by 
another shattering roar from the steamer’s 
gun. There was a confusion of noises on 
deck, and the shock of heavy falls. But 
Captain Carlotta never lifted her black eyes 
from the dial. She shouted an order through 
the tube, and the throbbing engines accelerated 
swiftly. 

‘ Hold tight ! ’ cried the girl, and grasped 
the arms of her fixed chair. 

Too late the caution. There was a rending 
beneath their feet, and Bruce and the Catalan 
were flung to the floor. 

The girl-captain sprang up and ran out, and 
they picked themselves up and followed. 

The deck was littered with smashed gear, 
and spattered with blood. Half-a-dozen 
stricken men lay scattered about, and a boat 
hung loose from one davit. The Huns must 
have been wonderfully quick in emerging and 
bringing their gun into action ; but they had 
paid dear for the damage. Just astern the 
steamer a strange body, like a monstrous buoy, 
was swaying in the waves. It was the U-boat, 
completely up-ended, and on the portion thus 
sticking out of the water a number of men 
were clinging. Others were swimming in the 
sea. Even as Captain Carlotta rang to stop 
the steamer’s engines, the remaining portion 


174 


GREY FISH. 


of the submarine slowly sank from view, and 
presently there were only swimming survivors, 
little black dots upon a sea all filmed with oil 
and alive with sickly bubbles. 

‘Rammed, por Dios!’ the old Catalan 
shouted with exultation. 

The Scot nodded, awaiting developments. 

A boat was lowered, and on the captain’s 
order a coil of stout cord was placed in her. 
Every rescued man, as he was taken from the 
sea, was at once bound fast with his arms to 
his sides, and thus bound they were brought 
aboard the steamer and ranged in line, a soaked 
and sullen crowd of a dozen men, including 
the Hun commander. 

The Little Bird laid on Bruce’s shoulder a 
hand which shook with excitement. ‘Look 
you, senor — the very same villain who sailed 
away from under our feet and left us to 
struggle to our death I ’ 

‘ “ To every pig his Martinmas,” ’ said Bruce, 
grimly quoting the Spanish proverb. 

Captain Carlotta stepped forward and ad- 
dressed the prisoners in English, the lingua 
Franca of the sea. The beautiful dark face 
was ominously calm. 

‘ Pirates and murderers, how many ships 
have you sunk ? ’ 

The Hun commander stared at the girlish 


CAPTAIN CARLOTTA. 


175 


figure. ‘ Who asks ? ’ he demanded inso- 
lently. 

‘ How many ships?’ repeated the girl-captain, 
setting her lips under his stare. 

‘ A ship for every year that you have lived, 
pretty captain.’ 

‘And merchant-ships, and passenger-ships, 
how many ? ’ 

‘ Enough to win this, bella signorina mia' 
With an odious leer, the German pointed to 
the Iron Cross pinned to the breast of his wet 
uniform. 

‘ And the Elenetta ? ’ 

‘ That was two days ago. But how did you 
know ? There were no survivors.’ 

‘ And of all those ships, how many prisoners 
did you take ? ’ 

‘ Prisoners ? My ship, pretty captain, is not 
a prison, or a lifeboat.’ 

‘ Nor is mine,’ answered Carlotta. She gave 
an order in her own tongue, and half-a-dozen 
sailors swarmed into the steel shrouds of the 
steamer. In a few minutes, on either side of 
the ship’s foremast, a festoon of nooses swung, 
each cord hitched a couple of feet higher than 
the one below it. 

A look of ghastly fear came into the faces 
of the sea-murderers. The commander of the 
U-boat sought to brazen it out 


176 


GREY FISH. 


‘Signorina, I have always understood that 
the seamen of Italy are chivalrous to a beaten 
foe.’ He bowed. 

‘I am not an Italian,’ she replied coldly. 

‘ I am a Sicilian. And I am not a seaman, 
but a sea-woman. And you have killed the 
man who was my lover.’ 

‘ What I have done has been done by order. 
It is war. I am not to blame.’ 

‘And what my men here will do will be 
done by order — my order. They are not to 
blame.’ 

‘ Signorina, what will you do ? ’ 

‘ I will execute a batch of murderers.’ 

‘ Gott im Himmel ! ’ The Hun stepped for- 
ward. ‘ It is monstrous ! It is contrary to 
the usages of war.’ 

‘We are not talking of war; we are talk- 
ing of murder,’ said Captain Carlotta. She 
gave an order in a level voice. The first 
of the Germans was seized, led struggling 
to a noose, and next minute was kicking in 
mid-air. 

The German commander, fast held by two 
Italians, was beside himself with terror and 
dismay. 

‘ In the name of civilisation, I protest ! ’ he 
cried. ‘ I am a Prussian officer.’ 

‘ Since you are a Prussian officer,’ answered 


CAPTAIN CAULOTTA. 


177 


the girl, ‘ you shall have the privilege of your 
rank. You shall hang last and highest.’ 

‘ It is murder ! ’ screamed the wretched man. 

In pairs the Germans were led forward on 
either side of the mast, and swung into the 
air. Bruce, sickening at the sight, stepped 
forward. ‘ Captain Carlotta ’ he began. 

She faced him with flaming eyes, and pointed 
imperiously. ‘Go below, Englishman! The 
English are too sentimental. This is vendetta. 
Go below I ’ 

‘ But hear me I ’ 

‘ Afterwards. Go below I ’ She stamped 
her small foot, and ere he could say more he 
was seized by two Italians and taken below. 
Pajarillo remained on deck, watching the grim 
spectacle with an impenetrable face. 

It was evening when Bruce was permitted 
to return on deck. The foremast shrouds 
were festooned with a ghastly line of corpses. 
The Little Bird, sitting on the bottom step 
of the bridge ladder, was watching them 
dangle in the air as he gravely smoked a 
cigarette. 

‘ Pajarillo, where is the captain ? ’ asked the 
Scot. 

‘At dinner,’ answered the Catalan. ‘She 
invites us to join her; but I do not feel very 
hungry, Seiior Bruce.’ 

L 


178 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Nor do I,’ said Bruce. ‘ What a woman, 
Little Bird ! ’ 

‘ She is going to sail into Naples' like this,’ 
said Pajarillo, nodding at the swinging bodies. 
‘It will give the Neapolitans something to 
talk about. And to think, after all, that she 
did not love this Pietro 1 Hombre! To my 
thinking it is yourself who is more to her 
fancy, Senor Bruce.’ 

‘ God forbid ! ’ said the Scot fervently. 

‘ Why so, senor ? If I were of your age — 
hombre / ’ The old adventurer flicked the ash 
from his cigarette, and nodded again towards 
the swaying corpses. ‘ That is justice — good 
justice,’ he continued. ‘ She and I are of the 
South, and I understand. But you are of the 
North. The North is too cold to under- 
stand.’ 

‘ “ Too sentimental,” she said.’ 

The Catalan nodded. ‘You have no vol- 
canoes in England. There is a great deal in 
geography, Senor Bruce.’ 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 

I. 

‘ T ITTLE BIRD, wlio would suppose, sit- 
^ ting here, that the world was convulsed 
with war ? ’ 

‘Things are not what they seem, Senor 
Bruce,’ said the Spaniard, puffing meditatively 
at a cigar. 

The younger man’s eyes were dreaming, as 
well a young man’s eyes might, for the sight 
they looked on was the lovely blue expanse of 
the Bay of Naples, whose beauties have lured 
the poets and the lovers of all ages since the 
birth of history. 

‘ You are a cynical fellow, Pajarillo mio,' 
said the Scot. ‘ Nevertheless, things are some- 
times what they seem. You and I have lived 
wildly of late, and if this spot seems to me a 
foretaste of paradise, you will not easily con- 
vince me that it is otherwise.’ 

The rose pergola which led down from the 
terraced rock-gardens of the villa behind them 
to the stone seat where they sat by the blue 
water filled the sunny corner with its fragrance. 
Bees droned in the scented air. Tiny lizards, 
flashing green and gold, hurried about among 


180 


GREY FISH. 


the rocky crevices. Steps cut in the rock led 
down into the water — water so clear and 
sparkling in the morning sun that one could 
see the fish flash past. A hundred yards from 
the shore a stout man was rowing himself 
slowly along in a little white boat, in which 
he had pulled from a small sailing-yacht that 
lay daintily at anchor about half-a-mile away. 

The mobile mouth of the Catalan twisted 
itself into a queer smile. ‘ The priests say, 
Senor Bruee, that even in the Garden of Eden 
there was a serpent. Do you see that man in 
the boat ? ’ 

‘Of course. It is Monsieur Polinski, the 
rich Russian, who has turned his villa yonder 
into a convalescent hospital for wounded 
Italian officers.’ 

‘ So I have heard.’ The Little Bird sat 
watching the oarsman. 

The rocky coast at this point looped itself 
into a picturesque cove. On the one point of 
the cove was the garden of the Villa Tosti, in 
which the two men were sitting. On the 
other point rose a stately castellated villa, 
over which, from a flagstafF rising from the 
white roof, floated the Red Cross flag. 

‘ Ever since we have been here,’ said the 
Little Bird presently, ‘ I have been wondering 
what Monsieur Polinski is doing in that villa. 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


181 


because I have seen Monsieur Polinski before, 
and his name was not Monsieur Polinski 
then.’ 

‘ What do you mean, Pajarillo ? ’ 

The Catalan turned his head, and the dark 
eyes looked into his companion’s face, ‘ You 
and I are honest men, Senor Bruce,’ said he. 

‘ You are an Englishman, seeking in your own 
way to destroy the German shark-ships because 
they ai*e the enemies of your country. I am 
a contrabandista who is trying to help you, 
because those accursed pirates drowned my 
poor brother, sailing in a peaceful Spanish 
ship. And if your honourable firm have 
undertaken to pay me certain moneys for my 
help, that is between them and toe. But this 
Monsieur Polinski 1 Ten years ago he was 
living in Barcelona, and then he called himself 
a Greek, with a name as long as my arm. 
What he was doing in Barcelona the good 
God knows, and perhaps some others not so 
good. For it was a time of revolution, my 
friend, and Monsieur Polinski grew rich and 
fat.’ 

‘ You mean he is a spy ! But what could a 
spy do in Naples ? ’ 

‘ Valgame Dios ! How should I know ? I 
am a Spaniard, and Spain is a neutral country. 
I wish this court of inquiry was over, and they 


182 


GREY FISH. 


would let me go back to my wife and family. 
Senor Bruce, it is six months since you and I 
set forth on our adventures. I grow home- 
sick.’ 

Donald Bruce smiled. Pablo Pajarillo’s 
constant talk of home-sickness always amused 
him, for, though he did not altogether dis- 
believe it, there was something incongruous 
about home-sickness in one who, of all the men 
he had known, seemed to have the most ardent 
love of adventure for its own sake. It was 
only a fortnight since he and Pajarillo had been 
torpedoed almost in sight of port, and rescued 
by Captain Carlotta. The Italian vessel had 
actually sailed into Naples with what was left 
of the U-boat crew hanging by their necks in 
a ghastly festoon of corpses on either side the 
foremast. It was the court of inquiry into 
this strange business that was keeping the 
two friends in the pleasant villa by the sea, 
where they had been lodged with a very 
courteous Government official, and where they 
enjoyed the completest liberty of action and a 
generous hospitality. 

‘ Gentlemen, it is time to go to the court.’ 

It was their host who called them, standing 
under the rose pergola. 

‘ Say nothing of Monsieur Polinski ! ’ said 
the Little Bird, as they rose to follow. 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


183 


As the car swung along the dusty road 
round the lovely bay, Donald Bruce sat think- 
ing of his companion’s words, and again asking 
himself the question. What could a spy do 
in Naples ? He had met this Monsieur Polin- 
ski — in fact, he had been introduced to him 
by Signor Tosti, their host — and had found 
him most entertaining, a man of the world, 
well read, speaking fluent English, and full, 
apparently, of enthusiasm for the war and 
sympathy for its victims. He was on excel- 
lent terms with his guests, the wounded 
officers, whom he entertained with the most 
lavish liberality, taking them drives in his car, 
and sailing with them on the bay within the 
narrow limits permitted by the authorities. 
On all sides the man was spoken of with 
respect, and even with admiration. Was it 
possible that all this could be a cloak for 
villainy; that by worming himself into the 
confidence of his soldier guests the man might 
be obtaining secrets of military importance 
and communicating information useful to the 
enemy ? 

On their way home in the evening they 
passed Monsieur Polinski’s car at a cross-road 
near the city. It was standing at the road- 
side, and Monsieur Polinski, who had several 
officers with him, was carrying to them with 


184 


GREY FISH. 


his own hands glasses of iced wine from a 
hostelry close by. 

Turning his head as their own car passed, 
Donald Bruce saw Monsieur Polinski in con- 
versation with the waiter of the inn, who had 
accompanied him into the road. The waiter 
had an evil-looking face. Bruce noted the 
fact, though it stood for nothing. Many 
waiters, like many other folk, labour under 
the disadvantage of an uninviting physi- 
ognomy. 

After dinner that evening the household of 
Signor Tosti took the air, as their custom was, 
in their pleasant seaside garden. The garden 
sloped in terraces towards the water. It was 
a still summer night, very quiet, very warm, 
and very dark over the bay, save when from 
time to time the mysterious long beam of a 
searchlight swept the coast-line and the sea. 
The wavelets, as they broke along the rocky 
shore, were bright with green phosphorescence. 
The pale-green sparks glowed wherever the 
fish leaped or a tiny wavelet splashed. No 
lights but the darting searchlights showed 
along the shore. On the opposite bluff of the 
little cove the Villa Polinski stood, a black 
outline against the night sky. Between the 
two bluffs which bounded the cove, and a 
little farther out than either, was a little pale 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


185 


speck where Monsieur Polinski’s white yacht 
lay at anchor. 

It suddenly struck the young Scot as a 
curious thing that the spot where the boat 
was moored was never swept by the search- 
lights. Some accident of shadow from the • 
coastwise rocks kept it unillumined, though 
now and again the questing ray caught the 
topmast, making it shine in a sti*ange, ghostly 
isolation. 


II. 

Last thing before turning in, Bruce went 
and sat for a few minutes on the seat by the 
water-side where he had talked with Pajarillo 
in the morning. He sat and thought of the 
future. Like his companion, he was anxious 
for this court of inquiry to end, but for a 
different reason. The Catalan, his vendetta 
satisfied, his fortune made by the success 
which had attended their joint adventures, 
wished to get back to peace, and enjoy the 
fruits which this curious partnership had 
brought him. The Scot, on the other hand, 
was conscious of an ever-increasing hankering 
to join one or other of the recognised forces 
of his country in the great contest with her 
enemies. In the Canaries he had learned to 
fly. The sea had given him adventure and 


186 


GREY FISH. 


danger in plenty, but the fascination of the 
air was upon him. He would fight for his 
country in the great spaces of the sky. He 
would be one of that magnificent brotherhood 
of daring youth who, like the gods of old, 
rode over the smoke of battle on the wings 
of the wind. He was a hard-headed, practical 
fellow, but there was a touch of poetry in his 
Northern blood too, and the terrible glory of 
the airman’s work drew him with a magic 
spell. 

What was that ? He started up, his dreams 
gone in a moment, his faculties intent. 

At the foot of the rocks below the Villa 
Polinski a straight green flash of phosphor- 
escence glowed, sparkled, and vanished into 
nothingness ; or, rather, it seemed to vanish 
into the very body of the rocks themselves. 
It was not the phosphorescence of a break- 
ing wave — there were no waves breaking in 
the still water beneath those rocks. Bruce 
watched, but the flash did not reappear. Had 
it been a trick of the eyes ? He knew it had 
not. It had been too straight and regular, a 
clear line of faint but definite green, pencilled 
out from the rocks towards the sea, shortening 
itself gradually till its disappearance into the 
rock. What could have caused it ? 

The Scot sat thinking ; but thinking brought 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


187 


no answer, and he went to bed. The Little 
Bird and Bruce shared a room which gave on 
to a balcony, from which steps descended to 
the garden — a pleasant room, fragrant with 
the scent of Southern flowers which blew in 
at the open French windows. 

No night could have been more restful, yet 
Bruce could not sleep. He lay thinking of 
the many things which had happened to him 
since he had left Spain with Pablo Pajarillo — 
of the war, of the man Polinski, of his own 
prospects as an aviator, of the terrible Sicilian 
woman - captain who had brought them so 
strangely to Naples. A hundred memories 
jostled each other in his restless brain. He 
grew hot and irritable with himself, and with 
the Spanish companion whose breathing came 
so regularly from the other bed. 

A clock in the villa struck two. Bruce 
abandoned all thought of sleep that night, and 
slipping out of bed, crossed the room barefoot 
to the open window, and stood a moment 
gazing out into the warm night, silent save 
for the faint splash of the wavelets. 

‘ Where are you going, my friend ? ’ The 
Catalan had not been too fast asleep to awake 
at the slight movement. 

‘ I am going for a swim. I cannot sleep, 
Little Bird.’ 


188 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Bueno / It will refresh you. Do not 
swim too far.’ 

Bruce took a towel over his arm, and went 
down the garden as he was, in his pyjamas, 
barefoot, silent as a shadow. Through the 
scented rose pergola he came to the water- 
side, stripped, and waded in, careful to make 
no splash which might arouse the suspicions 
of a watchman. The soft Southern night was 
lit only by the sparkling stars. As he struck 
out in the almost tepid water, Bruce told 
himself he would swim as far as Monsieur 
Polinski’s yacht and back. He was a strong 
swimmer, and the distance was well within 
his powers. 

He reached the yacht in comfort, resisted 
the temptation to climb aboard for a header 
lest he should arouse suspicion, and hung on 
to the mooring-rope to rest himself before 
returning. 

As he held on, treading the water, his foot 
came in contact with a line stretched taut 
beneath the water, at right angles with the 
mooring-chain. Wondering not a little what 
this could be, he felt about with his foot, and 
made the additional discovery that the taut 
line was double, a second rope, equally taut, 
being stretched within a few inches of the 
other. Bruce traced the two lines with his 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


189 


foot to their junction with the mooring-chain, 
and what he felt there spurred him to further 
inquiry. Taking a long breath, he gripped 
the mooring-chain well below the surface, and 
hand-over-hand drew himself down to the 
point of connection. Then his hands con- 
firmed what his feet had already suggested. 
The two ropes — or, rather, the single rope 
which he discovered them to be — passed round 
a running-block, firmly attached to the moor- 
ing-chain at a point some five feet below the 
mooring-buoy. The direction of the double 
line ran straight towards the rocks above 
which the Villa Polinski was built. Bruce let 
go, and came to the surface to digest this 
remarkable discovery. 

As his head emerged from the water, he 
was startled to find himself no longer alone. 
Another swimmer was supporting himself by 
the mooring-rope. A whisper reached him. 
‘ St ! It is 1, Pajarillo ! ’ 

‘ Why have you come here. Little Bird ? ’ 

‘ I thought — excuse me — young men are 
venturesome — I thought you might swim too 
far.’ 

Bruce was touched by the Catalan’s de- 
votion. He laid a hand on his companion’s 
wet shoulder. ‘Pajarillo rnio, there is queer 
matter here.’ He told in a whisper what he 


190 


GREY FISH. 


had discovered, and by an afterthought added 
what he had seen before retiring — the strange 
green flash beneath the rocks. 

‘ Ha ! ’ The Spaniard’s eyes gleamed in the 
darkness. ‘ Can you swim as far as the rocks 
yonder, Senor Bruce ? ’ 

‘ There, and back again, if need be.’ 

‘ Then, come. It will perhaps be interest- 
ing. I ’ll wager this line runs right up to the 
rocks. Swim silently, my friend ! ’ 

With slow, sweeping breast-strokes the two 
struck out for the rocks. From time to time 
they stopped and trod water, seeking the line, 
but without feeling it. 

‘ Patience,’ said the Spaniard. ‘ It will sag 
in the middle. We shall perhaps find it as 
we approach the land.’ 

And so indeed it proved. Fifty yards from 
the coast rocks their feet again touched the 
line. It led straight to the rocks, where, 
coming almost to the surface, it disappeared 
into an opening too small to be called a 
cave, one of many little cavities eaten by the 
action of the water in the low, overhanging 
cliff. 

‘ Where a line can go, perhaps a man might 
follow,’ whispered the Little Bird. ‘ How say 
you ? Shall we try ? ’ 

For answer Bruce struck forward silently 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


191 


into the black mouth of the rock. Scarcely 
had he left the open water, when he felt the 
line within an inch or two of the surface, and 
seizing it with one hand, took counsel with 
his companion. 

‘ Valgame Dios ! ’ muttered Pajarillo. ‘ I 
do not like this place. It is as black as hell’s 
mouth, and cold — hombre! it is cold as the 
grave ! ’ 

‘ While we have the line we shall not 
drown, com'panero. Will you come farther ? ’ 

‘ Plague on this Polinski ! If it were not 
so cold, it would be amusing to learn what 
devil’s trick he has here.’ 

‘ Come,’ said Bruce. He drew himself for- 
ward along the line. 


III. 

They had gone but a little way, when the 
inky blackness of the rock-passage began to 
lighten, Bruce, who was in front, suddenly 
stopped, and stretching out his hand, gave a 
warning grip to the arm of his companion 
close behind. Cautiously the two men worked 
themselves a few feet farther along the line, 
till they could see round a projecting mass of 
rock. 

A low cavern, whose irregular roof varied 
from ten to twenty feet above the black sur- 


192 


GREY FISH. 


face of the water, opened before them. It 
was perhaps forty feet long. The only light 
which relieved its blackness came from an 
oil-lamp standing on a block of stone at the 
farther end, immediately at the foot of a 
wooden step-ladder which descended from a 
hole in the cavern’s roof. In the glow of the 
lantern two men were standing with a barrel- 
shaped case between them. One of the men 
was Monsieur Polinski ; the other Bruce 
recognised with a start as the waiter of the 
roadside inn. What was in the barrel the two 
swimmers were too far off to see ; but what- 
ever it was, Polinski appeared to be giving 
careful instructions about it to the other man, 
who was following his remarks with the closest 
attention, nodding his head, and from time to 
time putting questions which the other an- 
swered. The men’s words could not be dis- 
tinguished, for, though the distance was not 
great, the faint movement of the water in the 
cavern made a murmurous whisper round the 
cavern walls. 

Monsieur Polinski emptied the barrel of its 
contents, taking out a number of small dark 
objects, and laying them in a handbag beside 
the lamp. When the bag seemed full, he 
took it with him up the ladder and disap- 
peared. A minute later he called out from 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


193 


above, and his companion followed him up the 
ladder. There was no sound in the cavern 
save the mysterious sighing of the imprisoned 
water. 

‘ Little Bird, it is now or never I ’ whispered 
Bruce. ‘ Come ! ’ 

‘ Hold 1 ’ muttered the Catalan. ‘ It is 
easier to get into a trap than out of it, my 
friend. My blood is getting chilled.’ 

But the Scot was already swimming swiftly 
towards the light. A flat tongue of rock 
running down into the water made a natural 
landing-place near the foot of the ladder. 
Bruce, shivering, crept out of the water, fol- 
lowed by Pajarillo, and found that a trap-door 
at the top of the ladder led into a lighted 
space. But as to what might be above them 
they had no time to conjecture. There was 
enough in the cavern to claim their fiill atten- 
tion. A number of the dark blocks were still 
Ipng near the lamp. At first sight they had 
the appearance of irregular lumps of coal. 

Pajarillo took one in his hand and turned it 
over. ‘ Bombs ! ’ he whispered. He pointed 
excitedly to the barrel-shaped case. It was 
a water-tight box, provided on the outside 
with powerful clip springs. A single glance 
sufficed to show how the case could be 
clipped in a moment on to a cable, while a 

M 


194 


GREY FISH. 


small capstan with a grooved wheel near by 
explained the rest. 

The Little Bird was still standing staring 
at the deadly thing in his hand, when a noise 
from above sent the two friends hurrying for 
concealment to the deep shadow cast by the 
block on which the lamp stood. They heard 
the sound of some one descending the ladder, 
and a voice which called upstairs. Then, in 
full view of both of them, the waiter from the 
wayside inn moved out, carrying the water- 
tight case, and clipped the springs on to the 
cable of the capstan. He began to turn the 
windlass, and the double line of cable com- 
menced to move, bearing the case away 
towards the water. 

Monsieur Polinski had not this time fol- 
lowed down the ladder. As the case neared 
the water, the man’s eyes, following its course 
away from the glow of the lamp, suddenly 
met the eyes of the two men watching him 
in the shadow. 

The apparition of the two naked figures 
crouching silently in that eerie place must 
have been a powerful shock to his nerves. 
The fellow’s jaw dropped. His black eyes 
bulged with terror. His hands left the 
windlass - handle and fell nerveless to his 
sides. 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 


195 


‘ Swim 1 ’ panted the I^ittle Bird in his 
young companion’s ear. Next moment, before 
the panic-stricken man at the windlass could 
give voice to his terror, Pajarillo’s hairy arm 
shot out, seized the lantern, and flung it 
blazing in the face of the waiter. 

A shriek of agonised fear rang through the 
hollow depths of the cavern. Pajarillo, fol- 
lowing up his throw, hurled himself full upon 
the terrified wretch, and with a mighty splash 
they rolled into the water together. 

An Egyptian darkness filled the cave. The 
water plashed and gurgled round the unseen 
walls of rock. No cry followed that first wild 
cry, but the gurgling and sighing of the w'ater 
in that subterranean hole was like a dreadful 
nightmare. 

Bruce, swimming for the entrance in obedi- 
ence to his companion’s desperate whisper, 
nearly gave way to unreasoning panic when 
the light disappeared and left him without 
guidance or the sense of direction. Good 
swimmer as he was, he began to gasp, but 
at that very moment his hand touched the 
cable, just awash, and the contact restored his 
manhood. He felt his way along the line to 
the entrance-gulley, and hung there with a 
beating heart. 

A minute later a faint light showed far off. 


196 


GREY FISH. 


coming from the trap-door in the roof. A 
man’s voice was heard calling doubtfully down. 
Between the faint light and himself Bruce 
saw something black on the surface of the 
water near him. 

‘ Is it you, Little Bird ? ’ he panted. 

‘ Yes, yes ! It is I ! Swim, swim 1 We 
must get out. Have you the line ? ’ 

‘Yes; have you?’ 

‘ God be praised, I have ! Swim ! ’ 

They struck out through the culvert-like 
entrance, and presently the sweet night-air 
breathed about them. At the outer side of 
the entrance the companions clung for a 
minute to the submerged cable to recover 
their breath. 

‘ Madre de Dios ! ’ gasped Pajarillo ; ‘ that 
was a close call, Senor Bruce. Can you swim 
back now to the villa ? ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ Then, swim.’ 

They struck out side by side. It was a 
hard swim after their experience in the cave, 
but the water was warm out here in the soft 
Southern night. They reached the shore 
safely, and crept back to their room on the 
veranda. The Little Bird laid something hard 
on the dressing-table. 

‘ What is that ? ’ asked Bruce, 


THE HOUSE OF THE SPY. 197 

‘That is a bomb, my friend. To-morrow 
we will take it to Naples.’ 

‘ Suppose that fellow recognised you, Paja- 
rillo ? ’ 

‘ What then ? ’ asked the big Catalan. ‘ It 
is certain that he will not see me again. No, 
por Dios ! nor will he see any one else either. 
It was my life or his, and, as you see, I am 
alive, seiior.’ 


IV. 

Two days later, at breakfast at the villa, 
Signora Tosti was full of great news. 

‘ Have you heard,’ said she excitedly, ‘ the 
authorities have discovered a great plot ? You 
know Monsieur Polinski ? ’ 

Bruce set down his coffee. ‘ Is he not the 
rich humanitarian gentleman who gives his 
villa for the wounded officers, signora ? ’ 

‘ The humanitarian gentleman ! ’ The lady’s 
handsome features expressed a fine scorn. 
‘ Signori, this humanitarian gentleman was 
last night shot for a spy ! Oh, it is quite true. 
My husband is in the Government service. 
He hears many things that are not known to 
all. What do you think ? This Polinski, this 
humanitarian gentleman, had perfected a 
system by which he obtained bombs from 
German submarines, made like lumps of coal. 


198 


GREY FISH. 


He had agents in the port who worked dis- 
guised as coal-heavers. I assure you it is 
true. My husband is a Government official, 
and swears he has himself seen the bombs 
which the police seized at this villain’s house. 
The agents obtained the bombs from Polinski, 
and placed them in the bunkers of outgoing 
ships so that they were indistinguishable from 
the coal they lay among. And then, when 
the stokers put them in the furnaces, bourn ! 
and another brave ship was lost to the Allies. 
Have we not all heard of ships which have 
sailed from Naples, and been mysteriously 
blown up at sea? Eh, but these Germans 
are cunning savages ! But, thanks be to God, 
our secret service does not sleep ! It has good 
ears and sharp eyes, and a long, long arm ! ’ 

Donald Bruce smiled and raised his coffee- 
cup. ‘Signora, I drink success to the secret 
service, and confusion to all plotters and spies ! 
And if you will give me another cup of this 
excellent coffee, I should like to drink the 
same health again.’ 

‘ Pass your cup, signore,’ said the lady. 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 

1 . 

AND to think that in two hours you will 
be in Spain ! ’ 

The man raised his eyes wistfully towards 
the distant summits of the Pyrenees. There 
was a note in his voice to which the heart of 
Donald Bruce, himself an exile from his own 
colder, Northern land, responded sympatheti- 
cally. 

‘ Why,’ asked Bruce, ‘ do you not visit your 
country, now that you are so near ? ’ 

The man clenched his hands. ‘Oh, senor, 
if I only could ! ’ He had broken into Spanish 
now, though all the way down from Mont- 
pellier he had persisted in speaking English — 
and execrable English — notwithstanding that 
Bruce spoke Spanish like a native. ‘ If I only 
could ! ’ he repeated. ‘ But I am a Carlist. 
The name of Brieto is proscribed in Spain. 
Yet I must torture myself sometimes by 
coming here, where I have relatives, to gaze 
from afar on the mountains of my country ! ’ 

Bruce said nothing ; and the other, standing 
on the open platform beside the train, studying 
the young Scot’s face, seemed to have some- 


200 


GREY FISH. 


thing on his mind. ‘ Sehor,’ he said at last, 
‘ we have known each other but a few hours, 
and that only as casual fellow-travellers. But 
it has been my experience that Englishmen 
are men of honour. Have I your permission 
to ask a favour ? ’ 

‘If I can serve you in anything, pray 
inform me.’ 

‘ Some would call me rash,’ said Brieto. 
He drew something from his pocket — a small 
gold box like an old-fashioned snufF-box, ex- 
quisitely chased. * I have a cousin, senor, who 
lives in Andorra, at the Inn of the Six Curarts.* 
His name is Andrea Maquin. My father, 
an exile like myself, has recently died. 
He left this trinket, of some family interest, 
to my cousin. I had intended sending it by 
post, but in these unhappy days the inter- 
national post is very insecure. The parcel 
would certainly be opened by the French 
authorities, and the trinket is of value. If it 
could be posted in Spain, there would be a 
greater chance of my cousin receiving it safely.’ 

Bruce hesitated. 

‘ Pray examine it,’ said Brieto. ‘ I assure 
you there is nothing contraband in my poor 
father’s snufF-box.’ He opened the box, which 
was quite empty, and handed it to the Scot, 

* Andorra is divided into six curarts or communes 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


201 


who looked at it with curiosity and admira- 
tion. 

‘ This is a very beautiful and valuable thing,’ 
Bruce said. ‘ You repose great confidence in 
a stranger, senor.’ 

‘ I am reposing confidence in the honour of 
an Englishman.’ 

‘ If you desire it, I will take your box and 
post it, Senor Brieto. Let me give you a 
receipt for it.’ 

The Spaniard made a gesture of impatience. 
‘ What is the use of a receipt ? If you are 
an honest man, it is needless. If you were 
not, how would a receipt bring my box 
back ? The train is starting, con Dios, 
Senor Bruce ! ’ 

The train drew out for Spain, with the gold 
box in the Scotsman’s hands. He turned to 
his travelling-companion, and, with a smile, 
held out the trinket. ‘ What think you. Little 
Bird? I must have a face of extraordinary 
honesty.’ 

Pablo el Pajarillo took the box in his hands 
and shrugged his big shoulders. ‘ As for your 
face, Senor Bruce, I have nothing to say 
against it ; but had I a toy like this, I should 
not entrust it to the first stranger.’ He 
examined the box, and shook his grey head. 

‘ Stolen, I should say.’ 


202 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Hombre! I never thought of that. What 
a fool ! ’ 

As Bruce took back the box it slipped 
through his fingers and fell with a crash on 
the brass fittings of the compartment. With 
an exclamation of dismay, he picked it up, 
and looked to see if it had been damaged. 

‘ Pablo 7mo, come here, quick ! ’ 

The chased gold lid had sprung open with 
the jolt, but instead oi opening as before in 
a single piece, the lid revealed itself to be 
duplicate. In the interstice between the two 
metal plates was a piece of thin Indian paper, 
the whole of one side of which was covered 
with very small angular writing. The pen- 
manship was fine, but not a letter could Bruce 
make out. The script ran from right to left, 
from which he guessed it to be in some Eastern 
language. ‘ What do you make of it. Little 
Bird ? ’ 

The Catalan frowned. ‘ Spy work, senor.’ 

‘ At Port Bou I will hand it to the French 
Customs.’ 

‘ If you do, the good God only knows when 
we shall get back to Spain. And I am long- 
ing to see my wife and family, from whom I 
have been absent now for more than six 
months.’ 

Bruce smiled. He made no reply, but 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


203 


settling himself in a corner, concentrated his 
wits on the effort to decipher the mysterious 
writing. Pajarillo, in the opposite corner, sat 
calmly smoking. 

Suddenly the Scot stood up, and held the 
bit of paper to a small minor in the side of 
the compartment. Then he reached for his 
valise, and got out a pocket-dictionary. ‘ Little 
Bird, this is nothing but German script, written 
in reverse with the left hand. And, unless I 
am mistaken, it concerns you and me very 
closely, amigo.' So saying, he looked up a 
few words in the dictionary. 

‘ Hark to this, Pajarillo : “ Two individuals 
very dangerous to the fishing industry have 
just returned to Spain after a journey most 
destructive of our useful trade. One is a 
Scotsman, Donald Bruce, an employee of 
M‘Ilroy, M‘Ilroy, & M‘Allister, the big wine 
firm. He lives at Barcelona, but visits the 
various ports where his firm has interests. 
They are believed to be financing his present 
exploits. The other man is an ex-smuggler, 
also of Barcelona, a long-legged rascal called 
Pablo el Pajarillo. This precious pair are 
known to have brought about the destruction 
during the past six months of at least four 
fine vessels of our fishing fleet, and to have 
caused serious trouble to several others. It 


204 


GREY FISH. 


is of the highest importance to put an end, at 
any cost, to the work of these fellows, for not 
only have they obtained considerable know- 
ledge of our business methods, but they are 
very skilful and daring. I commend this 
matter to your immediate and most earnest 
attention. Send your next invoice through 
Montlouis. — Karl.” ’ 

‘ Perdition 1 ’ The Little Bird’s tone was 
ugly. ‘ I should like to get my hands on this 
Karl’s windpipe.’ 

‘ That fellow Brieto,’ said Bruce, ‘ must have 
followed us all the way from Naples. He is 
dangerous, for he must have found out about 
us at the inquiry there into the sinking of our 
last U-boat.’ 

‘ What will you do ? ’ 

‘ I will leave this paper with the French 
authorities at the frontier, with a hint to make 
the acquaintance of Senor Brieto at the earliest 
possible moment. I will then go to Andorra 
to have a talk with Senor Andrea Maquin 
about the fishing industry.’ 

Pajarillo smiled wryly. ‘ This Brieto has a 
turn for paraphrase. He has the politeness 
to call the sinking of four of their cursed 
U-boats an interference with “the fishing in- 
dustry ” I Oh, excellent ! I will go with you 
to Andorra, Senor Bruce.’ 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


205 


‘And your wife and family, Little Bird 
whom you have not seen for over six 
months ? ’ 

‘They will not run away.’ The smuggler 
blew out volumes of smoke from his cigar. 
Evidently the prospect of a fresh adventure 
was a tonic to his lawless soul. 

It was not a difficult matter for Bruce to 
secure in his clothing the slip of German script, 
together with a hastily written note of his 
own explaining its origin. The papers of 
himself and his companion were in perfect 
order, and with no more than the usual delays 
of war-time travel they passed the frontier. 
Not till the train had left the French Customs 
station at Cerb^re, and reached the Spanish 
station at Port Bou, did he venture to hand 
his little communication in a sealed envelope 
to the guard of the train. ‘ Monsieur,’ he said, 
‘ information which may be of importance to 
the republic is contained in this letter, which 
I beg you to hand to the proper authority 
immediately on your return to France. My 
name and address accompany the information, 
and as soon as I have attended to certain 
urgent matters in Spain, I shall be happy to 
hold myself at the disposition of the French 
authorities. 


206 


GREY FISH. 


II. 

A great deal of interesting matter might be 
written about that curious political antiquity, 
the tiny mountain republic of Andorra, which 
lies in the heart of the High Pyrenees between 
France and Spain. Donald Bruce, endowed 
with all a Scotsman’s love of knowledge, 
acquired a fund of information about the 
quaint little buffer-state in the two days 
between his arrival at Port Bou and his de- 
parture from the last Spanish town of Seo de 
Urgel into the heart of the mountains. Not- 
withstanding his pretty thorough knowledge 
of Spain, Andorra was new to him. 

For the purpose of their stalking of Andrea 
Maquin, he was to pose as an American tourist, 
collecting material for articles on the historical 
antiquities and the facilities for sport in Charle- 
magne’s little republic. Pajarillo was to act as 
his guide. ‘ I shall address you, Ijittle Bird, 
in the most atrocious Castilian ever spoken by 
mortal man. It is fortunate that the Andor- 
rans speak your Catalan dialect, for this will 
enable me to pretend that I do not under- 
stand one word in ten which may be spoken 
to me.’ 

Early summer in the High Pyrenees is 
compounded of sunny mornings and after- 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 207 

noons of thunderstorm. It was in a deluge 
of mountain rain that Bruce and Pajarillo 
drew up their mules before the plain stone 
Inn of the Six Curarts. The Little Bird 
explained their desires according to plan, and 
mine host, who, like all Andorrans, had a 
keen eye for business, received the supposed 
American with as near an approach to effu- 
siveness as the reserve of his race permitted. 
Only one other guest, he informed them, was 
honouring his poor house at that moment, a 
wealthy merchant from Madrid, who was 
seeking in these fine mountain airs the health 
which overstrain in business and the trying 
climate of Madrid had threatened to under- 
mine. ‘ A notable fellow,’ said mine host ; 
‘ muy simpatico, muy espanol ’ — than which the 
Spanish tongue contains no greater praise. 

They met the merchant from Madrid at 
supper that night, and learned without much 
surprise that his name was Maquin. The 
conversation at supper was carried on mainly 
by the Little Bird and Maquin, Donald Bruce, 
true to his role of innocent American, con- 
tenting himself with nods and smiles, the offer 
of a well-filled cigar-case, and a few sentences 
of atrocious Spanish. Over a bottle of wine 
the Little Bird waxed confidential, and im- 
parted to the Madrid merchant the story 


208 


GREY FISH. 


agreed upon as to the literary mission of his 
patron. Senor Maquin was full of courteous 
interest. 

‘ One reads so much about these American 
journalists,’ he said. ‘ And you yourself, 
Senor Pajarillo, are you well acquainted with 
Andorra ? ’ 

The Little Bird shrugged. ‘With a good 
mule to ride, and a Catalan tongue in one’s 
head, one is very well in the Pyrenees.’ 

‘ True. Yet you will pardon me, who have 
stayed here several months, if I take the 
liberty to offer a piece of advice.’ 

‘ Good advice does not grow on every bush,’ 
said the Little Bird. ‘ We shall be grateful, 
senor.’ 

‘ Since your friend is a journalist, he would 
do well to keep away from the French frontier. 
The line is not everywhere easy to distinguish 
in these mountain gorges, and it would be 
very inconvenient to be suddenly held up and 
searched in these times of war. There are 
lawless spirits, too, among the frontier smug- 
glers, and accidents, as you know, Senor 
Pajarillo, happen so easily. — Do you follow 
me, Senor Bruce ? ’ 

Bruce, who was keenly but cautiously fol- 
lowing every word, shook his head. ‘ Alas ! ’ 
he said in his appalling Castilian, ‘ I under- 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


209 


stand but few words of Spanish — that noble 
language.’ 

The veiled threat in Maquin’s caution had 
not been lost on him, but Pajarillo smiled as 
he replied, ‘ I shall certainly keep my patron 
from running into danger. That will not be 
difficult, for, outside his literary work, his one 
interest in life seems to be fishing.’ 

‘ Fishing ! ’ Senor Maquin started as if he 
had been stung. Then he laughed. ‘To be 
sure ! These mountain streams are a paradise 
for anglers. I shall be pleased to introduce 
you to some of the best waters.’ 

‘ My patron will be infinitely grateful,’ said 
Pajarillo. To Bruce, slowly, and in careful 
Castilian, he explained : ‘ Thanks to this 
gentleman, we are to enjoy some good 
fishing.’ 

The Scotsman bowed and smiled with 
well -affected delight. * Mtichisimas gracias. 
It will indeed be a pleasure,’ he said with 
careful mispronunciation. 

Afterwards, alone with the Little Bird, he 
said, ‘ That fellow is suspicious.’ 

The Catalan grinned. ‘To a good angler, 
the suspicions of the fish are the spice of the 
sport. We are in no hurry, you and I. To 
begin with, we are going to make a thorough 
inspection of the old Council House of the 

N 


210 


GREY FISH. 


republic, and in the interests of your magazine 
you are going to obtain a photograph of the 
famous charter of Charlemagne in the archives. 
This will take some time, for the archives, it 
appears, are kept in a cupboard with an iron 
door to which there are six locks, and the 
key of one lock is entrusted to each of the six 
communes of the republic, and the cupboard 
cannot be opened except by all the locks 
being unfastened at the same time. This 
will give us an opportunity to tramp about 
the valleys of Andorra, and perhaps to learn 
a little more of our obliging acquaintance.’ 

In this surmise the Little Bird proved 
correct. For the better part of a fortnight 
Bruce and he spent an innocent moun- 
taineering holiday exploring the vallees et 
suzerainetes of the miniature republic. They 
tramped the mule-tracks round the mountain- 
flanks. On the high slopes the sheep-bells 
tinkled about them ; in the deep ravines the 
swollen spring waters alternated thunderous 
roar and babbling lullaby. They made ac- 
quaintance with many a red -capped peasant 
working on the patches of arable land amid 
corn and vegetables and vines, or leading 
his laden mule amid the wild -flowers that 
clothed the lower slopes. Senor Maquin dis- 
played a constant lively interest in Bruce’s 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


211 


literary researches, and, to do him justice, was 
able materially to forward them by his pre- 
viously acquired knowdedge of the country. 
At last a day came when, at a specially con- 
vened meeting of the little Andorran Council, 
the keys of the archive-chest were produced, 
and the precious bit of parchment contain- 
ing the reputed charter of Charlemagne was 
brought to light, photographed, and replaced. 
To celebrate the occasion, Bruce, with proper 
American liberality, entertained the entire 
Council at the best dinner the Fonda of the 
Six Curarts could provide. He delivered a 
speech, which he concluded by toasting the 
Syndic and Council, the Bishop of Urgel in 
Spain, and the Count of Foix in France, 
whose escutcheons in white stone are affixed 
over the solid oaken door of the Council 
House. 

‘ Little Bird,’ said he as they went to bed 
that night, ‘ 1 feel like a State personage.’ 

‘ To-morrow, Senor Bruce, we must go 
fishing,’ was the answer. ‘ In the meantime, 
I have made a discovery of more interest than 
the charter of Charlemagne.’ Glancing at the 
door, the old Catalan drew from his pocket 
a slip of paper, and spread it in the light of 
the candle. 

Bruce looked it over, held it to a mirror, 


212 


GREY FISH. 


and turned with a grave face. ‘ How did you 
get this, Pajarillo mio 1 ’ 

‘Very simply. While you were delivering 
your great speech, I embraced the opportunity 
to enter by mistake the room of Senor Maquin, 
who, as you may have observed, had changed 
his coat for the dinner. I have noticed that 
when a man changes his coat, he sometimes 
forgets to change the contents of his pockets. 
What does the paper say ? ’ 

‘It is a complete list of ships lying in the 
ports of Marseilles, Bordeaux, and Perpignan, 
with their destinations, and the probable dates 
of their departure.’ 

‘ Homhre ! That fellow must have some 
clever confederates on the French side. What 
will you do ? ’ 

‘We must aiTange our fishing expedition 
as near the frontier as may be. Maquin is 
certain to accompany us — his suspicion is not 
dead. It will be for us to make an oppor- 
tunity to seize him, bind him, cany him bodily 
across the frontier, and hand him over to the 
French authorities to deal with.’ 

As it happened, however, the morrow was 
a day of pouring rain, and the expedition had 
to be postponed. All morning the companions 
sat in the little inn. Instead of the noble 
view of green vale and towering, pine-clad 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


213 


mountain, there was nothing visible but sheets 
of rain. At the midday meal, to their surprise, 
Senor Maquin did not put in an appearance. 
Mine host explained that he had been called 
to Seo on urgent business connected with his 
firm, but would be back that night. When 
mine host had gone, the Little Bird looked 
at his companion. 

‘ He has missed his paper ! I should not 
wonder if the urgency of his business prevents 
his return, after all.’ 

Bruce looked grave. ‘ In that case, we 
must go after him. We must have him 
watched. We have the paper.’ He took out 
his pocket-book, and gave a startled exclama- 
tion. ‘ The paper is gone ! ’ 

‘ Look carefully. Are you certain ? ’ 

‘There is no room for doubt. The land- 
lord ’ 

‘ I think him honest. But this Maquin is 
too clever for us. He has gone to Seo to 
send his news to the coast. He will come 
back to laugh at us.’ 

And that night Senor Maquin came back. 
The spy was wet through, but in excellent 
spirits. He smilingly informed his fellow- 
guests that his firm had been able to do an 
excellent stroke of business, for which his 
presence at the telegraph -office had been 


214 


GREY FISH. 


necessary. He discussed the proposed outing 
for the morrow with great gusto, and notwith- 
standing the nearness to the frontier of the 
locality which the Little Bird suggested, he 
gave the scheme his full approval. ‘ I will 
show you such a stream as Adam fished in 
Eden,’ he promised. 

‘ In Eden there were serpents, senor,’ said 
Pajarillo. 

‘ In Andorra,’ Maquin answered gaily, ‘ there 
are none.’ But he gave the smuggler a queer 
look out of his little dark eyes. 

III. 

Next morning the three men set forth 
together. It proved a long and somewhat 
arduous journey to the stream so eloquently 
praised, but when they reached it, it certainly 
promised well. They had not been fishing 
long, when a fourth individual came up — a 
peasant of the district, to judge by his dress. 
He carried a carbine in his hand, and greeted 
Maquin as an acquaintance. After a few 
perfunctory remarks, however, he passed on 
up the gorge through which the stream ran, 
and was quickly out of sight among the pines. 

When he had gone Maquin laughed, and 
asked, ‘Do you know what that fellow is, 
Senor Bruce ? ’ 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


21.5 


‘ Not in the least.’ 

‘You will be able to put in your articles 
that you have spoken with a real Andorran 
smuggler. They are all smugglers hereabout, 
more or less. It is, one might say, the national 
industry of the republic. Our friend is a little 
nervous because we are so close to the frontier, 
on the other side of which he is unpopular. 
If you will excuse me, I should like to have 
a few words with him while you continue 
your sport.’ With a curious smile, Maquin 
followed the stranger up the gorge. 

‘ Little Bird,’ said Bruce quietly, ‘ if our line 
had not been fouled, it strikes me that is 
the second fish we might have hoped to 
land.’ 

‘ But, as it is, senor, I have an uneasy 
feeling that if we remain here many minutes, 
we shall receive a message from our fish in 
the shape of a buUet from that carbine. It is 
my opinion that we should enjoy our fishing 
better if we went a few yards down-stream, 
where we should obtain the cover of yonder 
corner of rock.’ 

‘ If we move, they will think we suspect.’ 

‘For my part, they are welcome to think 
what they like, provided we secure ourselves 
against a shot in the back. I have a horrid 
tickling between the shoulder-blades.’ 


216 


GREY FISH. 


Bruce smiled. ‘ The sensation is infectious, 
Little Bird. Let us do as you say.’ 

Avoiding backward glances, they moved off 
slowly, and, considerably to their relief, gained 
the cover of the rocky corner without any 
untoward happening. They were deliberating 
on their further procedure, when they were 
both startled by a hoarse challenge. 

‘ Halte-la ! Qui vive 1 ’ 

A lieutenant and half-a-dozen men in the 
sky-blue uniform of the French soldiery ad- 
vanced, with rifles at the ready, from the trees 
on the slope a few feet above. The two 
companions were completely taken aback, but 
Bruce politely saluted the officer, an elderly 
man with a fierce-looking grey moustache. 

‘Pardon, monsieur U lieutenant; we are, 
I believe, in Andorran territory.’ 

‘You are in France, messieurs. Andorra 
lies five hundred metres to the south of you. 
Where are your passports ? ’ 

The passports were produced, and the lieu- 
tenant frowned as he inspected them. 

‘These passports specify that you are per- 
mitted to enter France from Italy, and to 
leave it for Spain at Port Bou. You must 
submit yourselves to be searched.’ 

‘ Willingly, monsieur le lieutenant . — Hands 
up. Little Bird. W e are with good friends here.’ 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


217 


The search was a thorough one. When 
Bruce’s revolver was brought to light the lieu- 
tenant’s frown deepened. But presently the 
soldier who was searching the Scot handed 
his officer something which brought a more 
ferocious look into the old soldier’s face. He 
held up a little piece of paper, bared his teeth 
beneath the grey moustache, and uttered one 
word : ‘ Espion ! ’ 

At that terrible accusation Bruce caught 
his breath, but next moment squared his 
shoulders and faced the lieutenant with un- 
flinching eyes. ‘Monsieur, I do not under- 
stand,’ he said gravely and proudly. 

‘ Mes enfants,' the old Frenchman addressed 
his men, ‘if either of these fellows moves a 
finger, empty your rifles into him.’ He held 
up the paper before Bruce’s face. ‘ After all,’ 
he said bitterly, ‘ you must be a shiftless rascal 
to carry your death-warrant in your pocket 
across the frontier. Here is a nice list of 
ships in the ports of Marseilles, Perpignan, 
and Bordeaux. Messieurs les Boches will be 
disappointed when they do not receive this list 
of intended victims. Tell me the name of 
your confederate in France. It may possibly 
serve you.’ 

‘ Monsieur le lieutenant, I swear to you by 
all that is most holy, by the blood of our 


218 


GREY FISH. 


countrymen who have fallen, that my comrade 
here and I are the persons mentioned on those 
passports, and no other. For months we 
have been engaged together in the work — the 
difficult and dangerous work, monsieur — of 
tracking these Boche submarines and their 
helpers in Spain ; and that we have had good 
success I am in a position to prove to you, if 
you will have a little patience.’ 

‘ Patience I ’ the old man snorted. ‘ This 
paper does not call for patience, but for ex- 
planations.’ 

^Monsieur le lieutenant, I agree.’ Yet the 
Scot read in the keen, dark Southern face that 
no mere verbal explanations would save him- 
self and his companion from the summary 
execution which threatened them. A desper- 
ate expedient suggested itself. ‘ With your 
permission,’ said he quietly, ‘ I hope to provide 
an explanation which will satisfy you of the 
truth of what I say, and at the same time be 
the means of securing for you the real spies, 
whom my companion and I have been shadow- 
ing for this month past in the territory of 
Andorra.’ 

The Frenchman shrugged incredulously. 
‘ If you can do that, monsieur, you will do a 
very good thing for yourselves. I await your 
explanation.’ 


THE GOI.DEN SNUFF-BOX. 


219 


‘ The men whom you are seeking are in the 
pine-woods round the bend of this gorge, not 
a kilometre fz*om this spot. I ask you, mon- 
sieur le lieutenant, to bind my comrade and 
myself in such a manner that we cannot move 
hand or foot.’ 

‘ Et puis alors 1 ' The grizzled old man 
showed a faint interest. 

‘And then I ask you to take us both up 
this stream to a point ten metres on the 
French side of the frontier. Draw up your 
men a score of paces from us — I observe they 
all have magazine rifles — and order them to 
fire. But in the interests of justice I beg you 
to give them the strictest orders to fire over 
our heads. At the first volley I shall drop. 
At the second my comrade will do likewise. 
You will then order your men to retire; but 
as soon as they are beyond the shoulder of 
this rock, and invisible from the higher angle 
of the gorge, let them work back through the 
pines to a point from which, while themselves 
concealed, they can completely command our 
bodies. There let them await what will 
happen. It will be impossible for us to 
escape, for we shall be fast bound. I, how- 
ever, after a short time, will make some signs 
of life, and will attempt to drag myself nearer 
to the Andorran side of the frontier. Then, 


220 


GREY FISH. 


unless I am very much mistaken, you will see 
the two men whom you are seeking come out 
from hiding and approach our bodies, for it 
will not suit their purpose that there should 
remain the least chance of our surviving. At 
whatever moment you deem it expedient you 
will summon them to halt, and according as 
they may behave you will know how to deal 
with them. You will see, monsieur le lieu- 
tenant, that the proposal which I have the 
honour to make to you is not without danger 
to myself and my companion, but the matter 
affects not only the lives but the honour of 
us both. Therefore, in case of any accident 
happening to us in the course of this experi- 
ment, I will ask you to apply to the officer in 
command of the Customs post at Cerb^re, who 
has certain evidence in his possession that we 
are no spies, but rather the hunters of spies 
and murderers. I rely on you, as a French 
officer and gentleman, to make this investi- 
gation, and establish our identity. For, if I 
am to die, I should not wish my name to be 
branded with unmerited infamy. Will you 
do this, monsieur le lieutenant 1 ’ 

The veteran hesitated, meeting the Scots- 
man’s grave grey eyes. 

‘ War is a hard teacher,’ said he at last. ‘ I 
have a son about your age, fighting for France. 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


221 


I would not willingly send to death a young 
man who at least has courage and the look of 
honesty. My men are all picked shots, so I 
risk nothing. I will do as you ask. — Bind 
them, vies enf ants’ 

Donald Bruce bowed stiffly, and in a few 
sentences explained to Pajarillo what was 
to happen. The Little Bird shrugged his 
shoulders, and submitted philosophically to 
be bound. 

The plan was carried out in every detail as 
Bruce had suggested. It was a trying moment 
when the two stood up and faced the line of 
loaded rifles. Suppose one of those blue- 
coated marksmen aimed awry ! 

The reports rang out, and the bullets sang 
past their ears. Bruce pitched forward on his 
face and lay still. The Little Bird rolled 
sideways to the ground, wriggled convulsively 
a moment, and was still likewise. 

The French lieutenant stepped forward, 
bent over the bodies, and turned them on 
their backs. ‘ Mon Dieu,’ he muttered as he 
did so, ‘ but you played that well ! Spies 
or honest men, you are a pair of bold fellows.’ 
Returning to his men, he gave the word to 
retire in a loud voice, and the frontier guards 
withdrew. 

Bruce and Pajarillo lay staring up into the 


222 


GREY FISH. 


blue sky, listening with all their ears for the 
sound of approaching footsteps. The breeze 
made a faint murmur in the pines, and the 
stream babbled musically beside them, but 
there was no other sound. 

‘ Now ! ’ whispered the Little Bird at last. 

‘ V lya con Dios ! ’ 

Bruce made a feeble movement. He 
groaned. Then he rolled himself slowly 
along the rough ground for a few feet, and 
again lay still. 

A noise of stealthy footsteps caught his 
listening ear. With a great effort of will he 
shut his eyes. He felt, rather than saw, a 
shadow between him and the sun. He heard 
a whispered counsel : ‘ The knife is best, co7n- 
pafiej'o. It makes no noise.’ He set his 
teeth, still keeping his eyes closed. 

And suddenly, imperiously, broke in a 
shout : ‘ Halte-la ! ’ 

Bruce opened his eyes. Seilor Maquin and 
the man with the carbine were standing be- 
tween him and Pajarillo. Maquin held a 
naked knife. A deadly pallor was in his face 
as he stared round for the challenger. His 
companion, quicker to realise the situation, 
sprang for the shelter of the trees ; but as he 
leaped there was a crackle of musketry, and 
he dropped in his tracks. 


THE GOLDEN SNUFF-BOX. 


223 


Maquin, the spy, saw himself trapped. 
Like a dog at bay, he drew back his lips 
and bared his teeth. At that moment his 
eyes encountered the gaze of the helpless 
Scot, and the fury of a trapped animal over- 
whelmed his judgment. With a look of 
savage spite, he threw up his knife-hand to 
strike. But even as he bent to deliver the 
point the rifles spoke from the pine-wood, and 
his corpse rolled across the body of his in- 
tended victim. 

It was the old lieutenant himself who pulled 
it off*. ‘ That was a pretty close thing for you, 
my friend,’ said he to Bruce. ‘ It is fortunate 
that my lads have learnt to shoot.’ Without 
releasing his prisoners, he lit a cigarette, and 
proceeded to examine the pockets of the two 
dead men. And meantime Bruce gave him 
at length the story of his expedition into 
Andorra. 

By the time the lieutenant had completed 
his investigations he had reached the end of 
his cigarette. He threw the stump away, and 
with his own hands unfastened the Scot’s 
bonds, directing his men to do the like for 
Pajarillo. ‘Monsieur,’ said he, ‘if you will 
trouble yourself to accompany us to Mont- 
louis, this business may have a fortunate end- 
ing for all of us. From what I have been 


224 


GREY FISH. 


able to discover on these two rascals, I should 
judge that France and the cause of the Allies 
have reason to thank you and your companion. 
I will not apologise to you for what has hap- 
pened, for you are both brave men, and 
understand the difficulties of the times. A 
la guerre, comme a la guerre / Will you give 
your parole to come with us to Montlouis ? ’ 

‘ To tell you the truth,’ said Bruce, ‘ I was 
becoming very much interested in my re- 
searches into the history and customs of 
Andorra. But that must wait. — Pajarillo 
mio, we are going to Montlouis.’ 

The Little Bird stretched his stiffened arms, 
which the soldiers had now released. ‘And 
my poor wife and family, who are looking for 
me in Barcelona ? ’ he dolefully replied. 

‘ They also must wait,’ laughed Bruce. 

‘ Ay de rni f ’ said the Catalan. ‘ It seems 
we shall never get home 1 ’ 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 

I. 

I T had been rather a tedious fortnight for 
Donald Bruce and the Little Bird while 
the French authorities investigated the affair 
of the Andorra frontier. The court had 
finished with them at last, and the young 
Scot and the old Spaniard had been hand- 
somely complimented on behalf of the Govern- 
ment upon the part they had played in the 
business. 

‘ To-morrow, Little Bird,’ said Bruce, as 
they walked that morning beside the broad 
river, ‘ we shall be able to return to Barcelona, 
and you will at last have the satisfaction of 
seeing again your wife and family, whom I 
hope you will find in the best of health.’ 

The long, gaunt Catalan took the cigar 
from between his lips, and held it thought- 
fully for some moments between his wrinkled, 
brown fingers. ‘ Quiera d Dios / ’ he piously 
said. ‘But I am not so sure, Senor Bruce. 
I am anxious, as you know, to see my poor 
wife, from whom I have now been separated 
for seven months. But last night I met a 
man I know.’ 


o 


226 


GREY FISH. 


‘ So did I, Pablo mio. I wonder if it was 
the same. I met the French lieutenant. You 
remember Casimir Fanelle, whom we helped 
to blow up the Boche submarine off Seller? 
He commands a submarine of his own now. 
She is down at the mouth of the river.’ 

The old man’s dark, deep-set eyes showed 
a momentary gleam of interest, but he shook 
his head. ‘ I remember. But it was not he. 
It was a black villain named Carril. If what 
he said is true, I fear there may be yet another 
delay before we see Barcelona.’ 

‘ Little Bird,’ said Bruce with a faint smile, 
‘ I believe you smell adventure again. But 
would a black villain be likely to tell the 
truth ? ’ 

‘The very question I asked myself, senor. 
Yet they say that when thieves fall out, 
honest men come by their own. And this 
fellow Carril has certainly fallen out with 
his captain. I can never forget that these 
accursed Boches drowned my poor brother 
Pedro there in the Gulf of Lions. Besides, 
there is my bargain with your honourable 
firm to consider. If this Carril’s story is 
true, it may be that I can earn yet another 
of the generous rewards offered by the Senores 
M‘Ilroy, M‘Ih*oy, & M'Allister.’ 

Donald Bruce smiled again. When the 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 227 

Little Bird spoke thus, there was certainly 
something useful on his mind. 

‘ You forget, Pablo, I do not yet know who 
this Carril is.’ 

Pajarillo pointed with the smoking end of 
his cigar to a steamer lying out in the stream. 
‘He is the wireless operator on the Spanish 
steamer La Mosca. She has brought mules 
and provisions from South America, and she 
sails again to-morrow for Spain, to revictual 
for another voyage. It seems she has been 
bringing mules for the past six months.’ 

‘ In that case she is working on the right 
side, my friend.’ 

‘ Quien sake ? She is making money both 
ways, Seiior Bruce.’ 

‘ How do you mean ? ’ 

The Little Bird took a long pull with 
closed eyes, and exhaled the blue smoke 
slowly before replying. ‘ It seems that her 
captain has friends in Spain, who in their turn 
have friends in Berlin. It seems there is a 
curious secret about La Mosca. The cap- 
tain has other friends in South America, who, 
again, have friends in Berlin. It seems that 
whenever she passes the neighbourhood of the 
Azores, she somehow contrives to leave some- 
thing in the sea which is not mentioned on her 
papers. It seems also that a number of ships 


228 


GREY FISH. 


near which she has passed on one or another 
of her voyages have not been heard of again.’ 

‘ Spurlos versenkt / ’ muttered the Scot. 

‘ What did you say, senor ? ’ 

‘ Nothing. Go on, Little Bird.’ The Scot’s 
lips set tight. 

‘ There is nothing else of importance, Senor 
Bruce, except that down there, in South 
America, this Carril and the captain of La 
Mosca are both interested in the same lady. 
I gather that the lady is more interested in 
Carril — there is no accounting for the taste of 
some ladies. And both of them are very 
much afraid of the captain. But Senor Carril 
is persuaded that if he could rid himself of 
the captain without making too disagreeable 
a scene, he could prevail on the lady to avail 
herself of his devotion, and of the wealth 
which his villainy has amassed. Do I make 
myself clear ? ’ 

‘ Not entirely, Pablo. It would be inter- 
esting to know the nature of this commodity 
which the captain of La Mosca leaves in the 
sea,’ 

The Little Bird gave his grave smile. 
‘This Carril is a difficult fellow,’ said he. 
‘ He talks in metaphors. But if he is to be 
believed, the captain is interested in the cul- 
ture of bulbs, and is in the habit of leaving 


THE BULB-GAHDEN. 


229 


specimens which he has collected, to be planted 
in a special spot where they may enjoy the 
benefits of the warm Southern sun and the 
ocean breezes.’ 

‘ I do not profess to know much about 
bulbs,’ said Bruce, ‘but I had an idea they 
throve best in a Northern clime. In the 
interests of science, it would be good to obtain 
a few of these specimens.’ 

‘ It might be very dangerous, Senor Bruce,’ 
said the Catalan. 

The young Scotsman stood with folded 
arms, staring out upon the broad river. Pres- 
ently he turned sharply, the light dancing in 
his grey Northern eyes. ‘ Little Bird, I have 
an idea. But first tell me, why should this 
fellow Carril give you this information ? ’ 

‘ As to that,’ said the Spaniard, ‘ this Carril, 
knowing me for a man of some judgment, and, 
if I may say so, of some resource — we were 
acquainted when I was a contrabandista in 
the south — considered that between us he 
and I might devise some scheme whereby 
we might divide a substantial reward.’ 

‘I guessed as much,’ replied Bruce. ‘We 
must see that neither of you is disappointed, 
Pablo viio' 

‘ He is an arrant villain,’ the Little Bird 
objected. 


230 


GREY FISH. 


‘ We are not concerned with his morals,’ 
answered the Scot. ‘The only question is, 
how far is he to be trusted ? ’ 

‘ One can trust a traitor just as far, to an 
inch, as his interest and his safety coincide, 
and not an inch beyond.’ 

‘ I agree. And if one promises, one must 
give security to such a man for the fulfilment. 
So far my plan will secure us. Little Bird, I 
am going to lunch with Lieutenant Fanelle. 
I invite you to accompany me.’ 

‘ But you will not consult the authorities ! ’ 
The Catalan’s wrinkled face was blank at the 
notion of official interference. 

Donald Bruce patted him on the shoulder. 
‘ A naval officer is not like a Government 
official. He is a man of sense, who acts 
first, and talks very little afterwards. On 
this occasion we cannot do what ought 
to be done without some outside help. 
Come 1 ’ 

A couple of hours afterwards, in a private 
room at the little restaurant where they 
lunched, the three conspirators arranged the 
final details of the plan which Bruce had 
thought out beside the river. 

‘ Mafoi, but you are bold. Monsieur Bruce ! ’ 
said the young lieutenant. ‘ It is a great risk 
that you run. You ought to be in the navy. 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


281 


As for my commandant, I will answer for his 
permission. Our big friend here will have to 
accompany me in my little ship — as a mere 
formality, hien entendu, for I trust him as I 
do yourself. And before we start he must 
find a way of dropping a hint to this creature 
Carril. You make your attempt, then, to- 
night. If you do not return before dawn, we 
shall know that this rascally Spanish skipper 
has swallowed the bait, and we shall make 
our dispositions accordingly. If he does not 
take the bait, you will not need to risk your 
life, but, on the other hand, an important part 
of our object may be unattained. In that 
case you, as well as your friend here, will 
make the trip with me.’ 

‘ Monsieur, I hope to succeed with my bait,’ 
said Bruce. 

^ Sonne chance!' exclaimed the officer as 
they parted with a handshake. 

II. 

The night fell dark and still and warm. 
In the sternsheets of a little patrol-launch 
Donald Bruce sat stripped to the skin, but 
with a small bundle of clothes tied on his 
back. Five hundred yards above the point 
at which the dark bulk of the Mosca loomed 
in the tideway he slipped silently into the 


232 


GREY FISH. 


water, and with slow, regular strokes let him- 
self be carried towards the vessel. She lay- 
in complete darkness save for her riding-lights. 
Bruce seized her thick mooring-chain, and after 
waiting a few minutes to recover his full 
breath, sent up a cautious hail in Spanish. 
At first there was no reply, but a second and 
louder hail was followed by the appearance of 
a man at the peak of the fo’c’sle. A surly 
voice inquired who called. 

‘For the love of God, fetch the sefior 
capitan ! ’ said Bruce. ‘ It is a matter of life 
and death ! ’ 

‘ Who are you ? ’ repeated the voice. 

‘ The captain ! Fetch the captain 1 ’ gasped 
the Scot, as one in dire extremity. 

The figure disappeared, and presently re 
appeared with another. ‘ I am the captain of 
the Mosca. Who the devil are you in the 
water ? ’ 

The tone was uninviting in the last degree, 
but Bruce had not looked for cordiality. ‘ One 
who craves a word with you, senor capitan, 
on a business of life and death. I beg you, 
pull me aboard. I have money.’ 

The captain laughed gruffly. ‘ Por Dios ! 
that is a good thing to have.’ 

Bruce heard an order given, and presently 
a rope splashed near the ship’s cut-water. 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


238 


‘ Catch hold, and cling tight,’ he was directed. 

A few moments later he was hauled up, 
none too gently, and in the dim light on the 
ship’s deck found himself face to face with a 
stout, black-bearded man, in whose hand he 
perceived a naked knife. 

‘Now, Senor Swim-by-Night, you can tell 
me what is this business of life and death.’ 

Like a man in the last stage of exhaustion, 
Bruce dropped to the deck. ‘ I am an English- 
man, senor capitan,' he panted. ‘ I live in 
Barcelona, but I have been staying in France. 
But now the French Government is making 
all Englishmen serve in the army, and, 
valgame Dios! I do not want to serve in 
the army. I am afraid. I confess it — I am 
afraid. You are about to cross the ocean. 
I beg you to take me with you — away from 
these horrible lands of war. I have money 
with me — three thousand francs ; and I have 
friends across the sea who will pay as much 
again.’ 

‘Who told you I was crossing the ocean, 
my brave Senor Chicken-Liv'^er ? ’ demanded 
the Spaniard, with an oath. 

‘ It is known at the docks where the ships 
are going,’ answered Bruce. ‘ Senor capitan, 
I will work my passage. I will stoke. I will 
do anything to escape from this war.’ 


234 


GREY FISH. 


‘Show me your money,’ came the order; 
and Bruce, shivering, unrolled his wet clothes 
and produced a wad of notes. 

‘ Paper ! ’ snorted the captain. ‘ Paper 
money is at a large discount over there, my 
friend. Gold would have been better.’ He 
thrust forward a villainous face till the black 
bristles of his beard almost touched the Scots- 
man. His knife gleamed as he held it up. 

‘ Cowardly dog,’ he hissed, ‘ tell me what is 
to prevent me from putting your money in 
my pocket, and sticking this knife into your 
carcass, and throwing you overboard again ! ’ 

‘ Nothing,’ Bruce replied, with a steadiness 
somewhat out of character with the part he 
was playing. ‘ Only in that case, captain, you 
would deprive yourself of the further sum 
which my friends on the other side would 
pay.’ 

The skipper lowered his knife. ‘ True,’ he 
grunted. ‘ These friends of yours must be 
great fools to part with good money for such 
a creature as you. Follow me, Chicken- 
Liver.’ 

Bruce followed the captain down a hatch- 
way. In the light of a swinging-lamp the 
Spaniard stood to count the notes in his hand, 
and to glare from them to the Scot. A sar- 
donic grin overspread his dark face. 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


235 


‘The money is all right,’ he announced. 
‘You are a favourite of fortune, Chicken- 
Liver. It happens that I want a stoker. 
While you remain on this ship, therefore, 
your name will be Juan Calin of Valencia. 
1 advise you to remember it well.’ 

He pushed open a door, and Bruce followed 
him inside the close, ill-smelling fore-cabin. 
In the first berth they came to lay a dead 
man. 

The captain called hoarsely, ‘ Pedro ! ’ 

A hawk-faced, shambling fellow in shirt- 
sleeves tumbled out of one of the other bunks 
and approached, eyeing the naked Scot with 
a squint of curiosity. 

‘ Juan Calin is dead, Pedro,’ said the captain. 
‘ The stokehold was too hard for him. W ell, 
I have found you another who answers to the 
name. Viva Juan Calin ! He loves work as 
a pig loves acorns. Don’t you, Chicken-Liver ? ’ 
Here the captain gave Bruce a poke of faceti- 
ous humour. ‘ He is not accustomed to stoke, 
but he has brought a hundred francs which 
he is anxious to give to you and your fellows 
for the trouble you are going to have in 
teaching him. Put something heavy on Juan 
Calin primero, and drop him in the river before 
dawn. Take off his clothes, and give them 
to Juan Calin segundo, whose own clothes 


236 


GREY FISH. 


had better go down with Juan Calin primer o 
into the river. You follow me ? ’ 

‘I follow you, captain,’ said the squinting 
rascal. 

‘Juan Calin segundo must look the part 
before the inspection,’ said the captain. 
‘Keep an eye on him, and keep him busy. 
I rely on you, Pedro.’ 

The squinting Pedro grinned appreciation 
of the position. ‘ I will teach him his trade, 
mi capitan. Trust me.’ 

III. 

The fortnight which Donald Bruce spent 
in the bowels of the Mosca was a period on 
which he afterwards looked back as a night- 
mare of humiliation and torment. Nothing 
but a dogged obstinacy of purpose and an un- 
usually sound constitution pulled him through 
it. Something of his story seemed to have 
got about the ship, and he was a butt for the 
jeers of every man on board. The crew, from 
the skipper down, were as sinister a lot of 
desperados as he had ever imagined could be 
collected in one ship’s company — the very 
sweepings of the ports of Spain. He had the 
clear conviction that any hour of his life on 
board might well prove to be his last. Often, 
as he sweated, grimy and half-fainting, at the 


THE BUI-B-GARDEN. 


237 


bunkers and the furnaces, he realised with 
bitterness that had he had foreknowledge of 
what his adventure would cost him, he would 
never have been mad enough to undertake it. 
As the days passed, the belief deepened in 
him that there was a deliberate intention on 
the part of those into whose power he had 
given himself that he should never reach the 
other side of the Atlantic alive. Even before 
the ship left Europe, while they lay off a 
Spanish port taking in supplies, his position 
had become so bad that he was sorely tempted 
to throw up the sponge, and try to swim 
ashore. But the squint-eyed Pedro was as 
good as his word, and Bruce never had an 
opportunity to try so desperate an experiment. 
So with grim obstinacy he settled down to 
lie on the bed which he had made, and await 
the outcome of the adventure. 

Only once or twice during the voyage did 
he come within speaking distance of Carril, 
the wireless operator. 

The first occasion was when they were a 
few days out from Europe. Bruce had come 
up on deck for a breath of fresh air after a 
sweltering turn at the furnaces. He was 
leaning over the side, idly watching the heaving 
blue ocean floor, over which the ship was 
sliding at a good pace. The strong-winged 


238 


GREY FISH. 


gulls were flying steadily astern, and the Scot 
sadly contrasted his present condition with 
their magnificent freedom. 

Some one passed slowly behind Bruce along 
the deck. As the man passed, Bruce heard 
distinctly the three words, ‘ Watch the wake ! ’ 
spoken in a low, clear tone. He turned and 
saw Carril, but Carril did not look back. 

Bruce moved off to a position from which 
he could see the ship’s wake, lying like a 
broadening white ribbon across the calm 
blue of the sea. About a mile away he 
thought he saw the top of a periscope low 
in the water. No one else seemed to have 
observed it, and even as he watched it, it 
submerged. 

The second time he saw Carril was on an 
eventful day — eventful, because on the morn- 
ing of that day Donald had made an important 
discovery. He made it by accident, and was 
surprised that a device so simple had net 
occurred to him before. 

The Mosca had been making heavy weather 
of it for a couple of days, but that morning 
the sky had cleared and the sea had somewhat 
abated. Bruce judged roughly that they must 
be nearing the Azores group. He had been 
sent by Pedro with a message to the cook’s 
galley. The cook, a wrinkled Chinaman, had 


THE BULB-GAUDEN. 


289 


taken pity on the grimy stoker, and presented 
liim with a titbit. The Scot was surrepti- 
tiously devouring this behind the galley door, 
when he saw the black-bearded captain of 
the ship encounter the chief engineer outside. 
He heard the captain say, ‘ We must test the 
springs. The water she has been shipping 
may have got to the mechanism. When will 
you do it ? ’ 

‘ The sooner the better. Come now,’ was 
the answer. They moved off together. 

The Scot put his head out of the galley and 
watched them go down an alley-way which 
led, as he knew, to the extreme after-part of 
the vessel. Bruce suddenly had an inspira- 
tion. He had kept his eyes open since he 
had been on board the Mosca, and he had 
noticed — though at the time it had conveyed 
nothing to his mind — that the ship had a 
remarkably full stern, with an unusual mass of 
overhang. It was to that quarter of the vessel 
that the captain and the chief had gone like 
conspirators to ‘test the springs.’ It flashed 
upon him in a trice that it was there the 
Mosca carried her secret cargo, which at the 
chosen time and place those ‘ springs ’ were 
to release. 

He dared not follow the two officers, but he 
returned to the stifling stokehold with a new 


240 


GREY FISH. 


elation. He had not, after all, gone through 
the inferno of this voyage in vain. 

That evening, just after sundown, Bruce 
was smoking on deck, when Carril came along 
in the dusk, a cigar in his mouth. Passing 
close beside the Scot, Carril let his cigar fall, 
and stooped to pick it up. ‘ To-morrow. Six 
bells in the morning watch,’ said the Spaniard 
slowly and clearly as he picked up his cigar. 
Again he passed on without further notice of 
the man beside him. 

With dismay Bruce realised that it would 
be his watch on duty. But on second thoughts 
his dismay gave way to satisfaction. For, he 
reflected, if he were in his bunk when the 
crucial moment came, it would be a difficult, 
if not an impossible, matter for him to get on 
deck without arousing suspicion. On the 
other hand, the heat of the stokehold in these 
subtropical latitudes would give him, if he 
went to work carefully, the plausible oppor- 
tunity which he sought. It was no uncommon 
thing for men to faint at the furnaces. He 
had fainted once before himself, and he knew 
what would follow. The unconscious man 
would be carried on deck. A bucket of sea- 
water would be flung unceremoniously over 
his half-naked body, and he would be left to 
recover as best he might. 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


24 J 

Having made up his mind on his course 
of action, the Scot carried it through with 
characteristic determination. Midnight came, 
and he went to the stokehold with his mates. 
In order to prepare his way, he told the man 
next him, soon after the work had started, 
that he felt very queer that night. A quarter 
of an hour before six bells — that is to say, at 
2.45 A.M. — Bruce contrived a fainting-fit that 
would have done credit to any melodrama, 
right in front of the raging mouth of the 
furnace he was about to feed. Another stoker 
was close at hand — the Scot had made sure of 
that — and, with a great deal of cursing, Bruce 
was lifted and taken on deck, where the pro- 
gramme he had foreseen was carried out to 
the letter. He was even so fortunate that 
the engineer in charge of the watch ordered 
a man to fling a tarpaulin over him when he 
had been well soused with sea-water. Then 
they left him to his own devices. It had 
all happened so quickly that Bruce began to 
fear that some one would come to look for 
him again before six bells sounded. 

From where he lay he could see the dim 
outline of the steamer’s bridge, and the shape 
of two men standing near the wheelhouse. 

Suddenly a light flashed from the bridge 
— once, twice, thrice — a ray from a strong 

p 


242 


GREY EISH. 


electric torch. There was no other signalling 
that Bruce could see ; but almost immediately 
the bridge telegraph rang ‘ Half-speed,’ and 
then ‘ Dead slow.’ One of the figures left the 
bridge; and presently two men, whom by 
their step Bruce knew in the darkness for the 
captain and the chief engineer, passed along 
the communication - bridge leading to the 
poop. 

Removing his shoes, he stole along the 
after-deck below them and a little in their 
rear. He had been so intent on his plan that 
up to this time he had not noticed that the 
ship was showing no lights. The circumstance 
facilitated his cautious ascent of the poop- 
ladder, and he hastened to conceal himself 
under a boat slung on its davits. The ship 
was still going dead slow, and Bruce, creeping 
aft, could make out the forms of the two men 
stooping over the deck. He had got within 
half-a-dozen yards of them, though still 
covered by the boat, when one of them un- 
covered a flash-lamp, and he started back into 
the shadow. The Spaniards, however, were 
too engrossed in their business to look about 
them. Bruce clearly saw them raise a plank 
of the deck, and insert into something just 
beneath a thing like a steel bar; then the 
lamp was switched ofK 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


243 


‘ Now ! ’ came the captain’s voice. 

The two threw tlieir joint weight on the 
lever, shoving it hard over. There was an 
indistinct rumbling from well below the deck, 
followed by a heavy splash in the water along- 
side. Bruce peered over the rail, but the 
Mosca was still forging ahead slowly, and he 
could see nothing. He heard the captain sing 
out to the bridge for full steam, and glancing 
back to the deck, saw that the bar had been 
taken out, and the plank replaced in position. 

The Scot began to steal back towards the 
poop -ladder. In doing so it was his bad 
luck, notwithstanding his caution, to stumble 
slightly on a projection of some deck fittings. 

In a moment there was a hail behind him : 
‘ Quien se mueve ? ’ An angry oath followed 
as Bruce ran for the ladder, but the flash-lamp 
caught him ere he reached it. He heard the 
captain’s fierce exclamation, ‘ It is the English- 
man ! Por Dios, a spy 1 ’ 

Well knowing there would be no mercy for 
him if caught, Bruce instinctively rushed back 
behind his boat. A revolver-bullet followed 
him, splintering the gunwale of the boat as 
he dived behind it. Next moment he realised 
the trap into which he had run. His pursuers 
took an end of the boat each. The captain’s 
light was on him, remorseless, unescapable. 


244 


GREY FISH. 


For a moment both his enemies seemed to 
hesitate to shoot for fear of hitting one 
another. In his desperate situation the young 
Scot seized a desperate chance. The ray of 
the flash-lamp showed him a row of life-belts 
slung on the side of the boat above him, ready 
for immediate use in the emergencies of the 
times. Tugging with frenzied strength at one 
of these, he broke the sun-rotted cord which 
held it, and without a moment’s hesitation 
leaped overboard^ as two shots rang out 
together. 

He lost the life-belt in his wild plunge, 
dived deep to escape the screw, and presently 
came to the surface gasping for breath, and 
seized with the physical panic that the 
strongest swimmer may on occasion experi- 
ence. Fighting it down with a great effort 
of will, he looked about for the steamer. She 
was already at some distance, and showed no 
intention of altering course. Putting a strong 
curb on his fear, the Scot swam slowly in the 
direction he calculated his life-belt must have 
taken, and, after some terrible minutes, he 
had the unspeakable relief of sighting it from 
the crest of a wave. Having secured it, he 
rested on the heaving waters, and tried to en- 
visage his position. 

If the sharks did not get him, he might last 


THE BULB-GABHEN. 


245 


a few hours before exhaustion set in. His fate 
lay with a shocking literalness between the 
devil and the deep sea. 

But what was it the Mosca had dropped 
into the ocean ? Whatever it was, logie told 
him it must be floating, and that it must 
sooner or later be picked up. He wondered 
how far the steamer had come since he had 
heard that great splash. Things had happened 
so quickly that he told himself, hoping against 
hope, it could not be very far. And he set 
himself, guided by the stars, to swim doggedly 
back along what he conceived to have been 
the vessel’s course. 

Though the water was not cold, Bruce, 
weakened by his toil in the stokehold and by 
bad feeding, soon found himself wearied out. 
He ceased struggling on, and floated limply, 
clinging to his life-belt, half-minded to give 
up the hopeless contest with the immensity 
of ocean, and let himself go for good and all. 

How long he had been in the water he could 
form no notion. It seemed to have been an 
eternity. The night was not so dark as it had 
been. Bruce fancied it must be the dawn 
coming, and when the waning crescent of the 
moon slid up out of the heaving waste in 
the east he thought he must be going light- 
headed. For it meant he had not been in 


246 


GREY FISH. 


the water an hour. The silvery light lay in 
a shivering lane across the ocean, a lane of 
which he seemed to make one end and the 
moon the other. 

Suddenly the heart of the despairing man 
seemed to stand still. In that faint path of 
light something was moving besides the waves 
which heaved him up and lowered him into 
their troughs — a small black object, like the 
projecting top of a sunken mast. It was 
moving slowly towards him, a little obliquely. 

Even in the first shock of amazement he 
knew, of course, what it was. It could be 
nothing else but a submarine. And in a 
passion of suddenly renewed hope he set him- 
self to swim so that he might cross its path 
through the water. Fear lent strength to his 
limbs, for he realised how remote was the 
possibility of success. He discarded the life- 
belt as an encumbrance, even though he knew 
he would never have strength to recover 
it, should he lose in this gamble for life or 
death. 

And he won 1 Five yards less progress on 
his part, and he would have drowned. But 
he met the rising swirl of water and the slowly 
moving periscope fairly in its course, and next 
moment he had encircled the dark upright 
with arms and legs, and was being borne 


THE BUI.B-GAUDEN. 


247 


along with it through the sea. Even in the 
moment of success a cold horror seized him 
at the thought that the vessel might submerge 
completely. Friend or foe, down in that in- 
visible abode of life beneath the uneasy waters, 
must be equally unconscious of his presence. 
At any moment, in their ignorance, they 
might send him to death by the touch of a 
lever. 

The agony of the young man’s position 
quickened his wits for a last bout with fortune. 
One of the useful things he had learned in the 
course of a not uneventful life was the Morse 
code. Barking his knuckles at every blow, 
he struck out desperately on the metal shaft 
to which he clung the longs and the shorts 
for the one word ‘Help.’ He waited with 
a frightful anxiety for the result. There was 
none, save that the swirl of water about him 
seemed greater, and that the periscope ap- 
peared to move faster through the waves. 
Again Bruce hammered out his four letters 
on the shaft. Still the periscope moved on. 
He felt his muscles failing, and knew that he 
could not hold on much longer. The splash 
of the water as the ship drove through it 
smothered him every few moments, blinding 
and confusing him. 

Then suddenly he realised that the seas 


248 


GREY FISH. 


were swamping him no longer. His limbs, 
unaided by the water, were taking his full 
weight. Glaneing down, he pereeived the 
eonning-tower emerge from the waves, and 
then, sparkling with green phosphorescence 
like shot silk, the line of the deck came into 
view. The water-tight door of the conning- 
tower opened, and a man came out. 

‘ Help 1 ’ cried Bruce,- and tumbled limply 
as a strong hand seized him. 

IV. 

After a blank interval the Scot opened his 
eyes. He was dry. He was warm. Electric 
lamps glowed about him. Some one was 
chafing his limbs, and a young man with a 
black moustache was watching him with a 
pleasant smile of anticipation from under the 
peak of a gold-laced cap. 

‘ Eh bien, comment pa va ? ’ said the young 
man cordially. 

Bruce recognised dreamily the French lieu- 
tenant Fanelle. He tried to sit up, but failed. 
So he smiled — an inane smile, he felt. ‘ Pas 
mol,' he muttered. He was drowsily conscious 
of a gaunt, familiar countenance peering into 

his own. ‘ Little Bird ’ he began, but for 

the life of him could get no further. Weak 
tears filled his eyes. 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


249 


Pajarillo covered them with a large hand. 
‘ Go to sleep, my friend,’ said he. ‘ The sefior 
teniente is for the moment rather busy, but 
he is anxious, when you have rested, to have 
the pleasure of some conversation.’ 

Bruce dropped off to sleep like a child in 
the hands of its nurse. 

Hours later the dull shock of an immense 
explosion startled him wide awake. Pajarillo 
was standing beside his bunk in a listening 
attitude, clinging to a handrail. 

‘ What is the matter. Little Bird ? ’ asked 
Bruce. 

‘ Nothing is the matter, Senor Bruce — with 
us. That teniente is very skilful. He should 
get promotion for this.’ 

‘ Find me some clothes, Pablo mio. Dios ! I 
thought we were torpedoed ! ’ 

‘ We were not,’ answered the Little Bird 
grimly. ‘ But the bulb-merchant I told you 
about back there in France — I should not be 
surprised if he is out of business. I shall try 
to find you some clothes, senor, but everybody 
is very busy. Meanwhile have the goodness 
to drink this.’ 

A quarter of an hour later Donald Bruce, 
temporarily attired in the clothes of a French 
sailor, ascended the ladder of the conning- 
tower and emerged suddenly from the electric 


250 


GREY FISH. 


light into the midst of a wonderful transfor- 
mation scene. 

For a moment the dazzling glare of the 
subtropical morning almost blinded him. All 
around the water sparkled in a wide basin, 
fringed with low, jagged rocks. A quarter 
of a mile from the ship, in the midst of the 
bay, a pall of smoke hung in the clean, still 
air. On the submarine’s deck all was activity. 
At the forward gun Lieutenant Fanelle was 
standing with half-a-dozen men, the French 
Tricolour hanging above them. The gun was 
ranged on a group of low huts on the shore 
some five hundred yards away. In front of 
the huts a machine-gun was in position, but 
was unattended. A few men from the huts 
had come down to the water’s edge, where 
they were standing on a little wooden jetty, 
their hands held above their heads. The sub- 
marine was lowering a boat, in which seamen 
with fixed bayonets were hurriedly embarking. 

The young lieutenant turned as Bruce came 
up. His keen dark face was alight. ‘ Ah ! ’ 
he nodded. ‘ Qa va mieux / ’ 

‘ The German U-boat ? ’ queried Bruce. 

* Ah I ’ came the quick ejaculation again. 
* Fini, mon ami. What they call in their 
jargon, I believe, kaput. Voila ! ’ He pointed 
to the cloud of smoke, beneath which Bruce 


THE BUI.B-GARDEN. 


251 


now made out a few objects floating on the 
sunlit water. 

Lieutenant Fanelle, though the soul of 
courtesy, was adamant in his refusal to allow 
either Bruce or the Little Bird to go ashore 
until matters there were squared up to his 
satisfaction. ‘Monsieur Bruce, this is war,’ 
said he. ‘ You and your friend are brave men, 
and although, through the force of circum- 
stances, you are wearing the uniform of the 
Republic, nevertheless you are civilians. One 
must observe the rules of the game.’ 

So the Scot and the Catalan were left on 
board to exercise what patience they might. 
They saw the men from the huts rounded up, 
disarmed, and secured under guard. They 
saw the lieutenant set off" again from the jetty, 
and, with a couple of prisoners in the bow of 
his launch, proceed to make a tour of the 
basin. 

The Little Bird methodically rolled cigar- 
ettes for Bruce and himself. ‘ Hombre / ’ said 
he ; ‘it is good to talk one’s own language 
again and be understood. That teniente is a 
terrible fellow. I assure you, senor, for ten 
days until this morning 1 have not seen the 
blessed light of the sun. The stars at night — 
yes, and the dark water, and your ship ahead 
of us when we came up for a breath of clean 


252 


GREY FISH. 


air. From the day we left the river I do not 
believe there has been a moment when the 
teniente lost sight of her. Tell me now what 
happened to you, Senor Bruce ; for assuredly 
you have been as near death as ever we have 
been together.’ 


V. 

Sitting down on the deck, which was already 
diy and warm with the sun, Bruce told of his 
days on board the Mosca. 

* Maria purfsima!' muttei*ed the Catalan. 
‘ It is not easy to kill you ! Your Government 
will certainly give you a medal.’ 

Bruce laughed. ‘Medals are for soldiers 
and sailors, Pablo mio. You and I are 
amateurs, mere aficionados. But after you 
have gone home to your wife and family, I 
shall ask my employers’ permission to join 
the regular forces. I confess the life of an 
amateur becomes too trying for me. Now 
tell me where we are and how we came 
here.’ 

‘As to that, I confess I do not know,’ 
answered the Spaniard. ‘The senor teniente 
will perhaps enlighten you. His boat is 
coming back. But I warn you, he does not 
say much.’ 

For once, however, the Little Bird was 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


253 


quite mistaken. The young Frenchman was 
full of the enthusiasm of success. His first 
thought was to order lunch ; his second was 
to demand a repetition of the story which 
Bruce had told his comrade. ‘ Mon cher,' 
cried Fanelle, ‘ let me tell you this is a very 
fine piece of business. Do you know that in 
this sacre bulb-garden there are enough bulbs 
— ha ! a pretty word ! — enough bulbs to blow 
up a navy? They are planted in the water 
of the bay, ready for use ; they are stored in 
the huts on shore. Some have a little bar 
above them, and some have it below them — 
a terrible little bar, which, if you touch it — 
pouf ! good-bye all ! Oh, a magnificent collec- 
tion of bulbs ! I have wirelessed for a ship 
to come and take them away. We can make 
use of them, I dare say, to form plantations 
of our own.’ 

‘ Where are we ? ’ asked Bruce. 

‘ W e are about twenty leagues from any- 
where — that is to say, from the Azores. We 
are in the midst of a maze of reefs and currents 
and uninhabited rock islets. It was decidedly 
clever of Messieurs les Boches to think of 
making a storeroom in such a spot. Name 
of a name ! W e could never have found our 
way in if that fellow had not shown us the 
course. You must know that we have not 


254 


GREY FISH. 


lost sight of your Mosca since we left the 
river. In the day-time we used to keep our 
distance, but at night we closed up, and last 
night we were so near alongside that we 
actually saw through our peep-hole the splash 
when the bulbs were dropped. At that 
moment, I confess, I was anxious. You see. 
I did not know what it was that the 3£osca 
had dropped under our noses. But there came 
into my mind that mot of one of your great 
men — a cautious man, parbleu! though his 
name escapes me. “ W ait and see,” said he. 
Well, I stopped and waited. But, seeing 
nothing, after some minutes I ventured to 
come to the surface — oh, but not too much, 
I can tell you. And there was a great buoy, 
painted white and red, floating on the sea. 
I did not know till that moment that the 
water was so shallow. “ There is the rat- 
trap baited,” thought I, “but where is the 
rat ? ” 

‘ I gave the order at once to submerge, for 
the moon was coming up. And good luck 
that I did, for scarcely were we down again 
when up came another submarine. Monsieur 
le Boche, if you please ! By the mercy of 
Providence he had not seen us, and it was 
clear he was not expecting any interruption, 
for he came right up to the surface, and 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


255 


began cruising about in the moonlight, looking 
for the buoy. “ Time to dip,” thinks I, and 
down we went out of sight. But I did not 
wish to lose that sportsman ; so, when we 
had gone, as I judged, far enough to be safe, 
I poked up my periscope again. I could not 
see him — we had come farther than I thought, 
following the direction of your ship. I was 
on the point of going about, when — miUe ton- 
nerres ! — there was a tapping on my periscope. 
Mon lyieu, but I was frightened ! An aviator 
who should see the horned devil sitting on 
a cloud, stretching out his claws, would not 
be more scared. Tap — tap, tap — tap, tap, 
tap ! The sweat ran down my face. Then 
suddenly it stopped. And then it began again. 
“ Casimir,” I said to myself, “ you are a 
coward.” And when I heard myself called 
that name, I swore. I told myself, “ Casimir, 
if you are to die, you will first go up and face 
that devil of the sea.” So, very cautiously, I 
pushed the conning-tower above-water and 
went on deck. There was a black thing like a 
great ape — you will excuse me, but so it seemed 
to my fear — clinging round the periscope, and 
suddenly the thing shouted out, “ Help ! ” and 
flopped down almost on my head. No sooner 
had we got it down the ladder than that big 
friend of yours gave a shout to startle us all. 


256 


GREY FISH. 


and pushing us aside, began to pull off its 
wet clothes like a man possessed. In three 
minutes he had you rolled in blankets in his 
own bunk, and was turning the ship upside- 
down to find the means of restoring you. 
One would have said you were his only son.’ 

‘ He is a loyal comrade,’ said Bruce with 
feeling. ‘ He and I have been through many 
adventures together, mon lieutenant' 

‘ May you live to go through many more ! ’ 
cried the Frenchman heartily. ‘ Ha ! There 
goes the wireless.’ 

Presently a petty officer approached and 
handed his commander a paper, over which 
Lieutenant Fanelle pored for some minutes. 

‘ It is as I hoped,’ he announced. ‘ I am 
to stay and take care of the bulb-garden till 
this canaille of the Mosca gets back from South 
America. Then I am to have the pleasure 
of a conversation with your friend the captain, 
who will show me over his interesting vessel. 
In the meantime I regret that my orders are 
to send you, Monsieur Bruce, and this Little 
Bird of yours, to the Azores with the ship 
which is on its way here.’ 

‘ I shall be sorry to miss the captain of the 
Mosca,' said Bruce ; ‘ but my friend Pajarillo 
is a family man, and anxious to get home. 
So perhaps it is for the best.’ 


THE BULB-GARDEN. 


257 


VI. 

Some two months later much indignation 
was being expressed in a crowded compart- 
ment of a train leaving Portugal for Madrid. 
An excited Madrileno had just read to the 
company a paragraph from a Spanish news- 
paper he had obtained on crossing the frontier. 

‘ We learn from a well-informed correspondent 
at Vigo,’ said the paragraph, ‘ that the Spanish 
steamer Mosca, well known in our Atlantic 
ports, has been captured as a prize off the 
Azores — it is believed, at the instigation of 
the Portuguese authorities, on an allegation 
of carrying contraband of war. This extra- 
ordinary seizure of a Spanish vessel is the 
more unaccountable, inasmuch as the Mosca 
is known to have been engaged in carrying 
much-needed goods from South America to 
France. A vigorous protest by our Govern- 
ment is confidently anticipated.’ 

Angry comment went round the compart- 
ment. Every one had something to say, 
except two weather - tanned men who sat 
opposite each other in corner seats. Their 
silence seemed to irritate the owner of the 
newspaper, who turned to the elder of the 
two. ‘We are all good Spaniards here, I 
think,’ said he. ‘ What do you, senor, say to 
Q 


258 


GREY EISH. 


all this ? It has come to something when a 
neutral Spanish vessel, laden with a cargo sent 
from a neutral South American state to a 
French port — a French port, mark you — is to 
be waylaid and stolen on such a transparent 
pretext ! “ Beware of silent men and dogs that 

do not bark,” says the proverb. I ask you, 
senor, do you approve of such an outrage?’ 

The sunburned old man looked up with a 
disarming smile. ‘As to that, Caballeros, I 
am a Catalan,’ said he, ‘ and know little of 
shipping matters on this side of Spain. But 
in Cataluna we have a saying : “ The ass that 
has many owners, wolves devour him.”’ 

‘ And, again,’ put in the younger man 
opposite, ‘they say also in Barcelona that a 
woman, a glass, and a ship are always in 
danger. Ay de mi, how slowly the train goes I 
What did you say was the ship’s name, 
senor ? ’ 


BLACKLISTED 


I. 


HE east-bound train from Badajoz had 



A completed about an hour of its journey 
towards the distant capital, and was pursuing 
its leisurely way across the low, sun-baked 
slopes of Estremadura, Passengers from the 
Portuguese frontier had glanced through their 
newspapers and were getting drowsy, when 
the guard, scrambling along the footboards in 
that casual way they have in the South, stuck 
a perspiring face through the open window 
of the compartment, and held up a yellow' 
envelope. 

‘ Is any caballero here called Donald Bruce?’ 

The passengers looked up from their inter- 
rupted doze, and a sunburned young man in 
the corner by the window got out his pass- 
port. ‘That is my name,’ said he, showing 
his papers. 

‘A telegram for you, senor. See, it is 
addressed to the train at Badajoz: “Midday 
train for Madrid, station of Badajoz.” It is 
a full train to-day, seflor, or I should have 
found you earlier. Have the kindness to give 
me a receipt.’ 


260 


GREY FISH. 


The passenger did so, accompanying the 
receipt with a silver piece and a courteous 
expression of thanks. 

It is not often in the pleasant land of 
Spain that persons are chased by telegrams on 
a railway journey ; and while the young man, 
himself surprised at the circumstance, opened 
the despatch, his fellow-travellers regarded him 
with a certain respectful curiosity. Having 
read the message, he passed it to the long- 
limbed old man who sat opposite to him. 

The message in the telegram was : ‘ See the 
gardener. Praetor’s Palace, Merida, mentioning 
M‘Ilroy, M‘Ilroy, M‘Allister.’ Handed in at 
Barcelona, it was written in Spanish. The 
two men looked at each other, and the elder 
shrugged his shoulders with an air of resigna- 
tion. ‘ Merida is the next station,’ said he. 

‘ There is no need for you to delay your 
journey, Pablo,’ said the younger. ‘Your 
wife and family, after all this time ’ 

‘ Basta f ’ The keen, bony face of the other 
leaned a little forward. ‘I know what you 
would say, my friend. But we set out together, 
and together, plegue d Dios, we will return. 
See, here is Merida.’ 

The train ran under the broken arch of a 
crumbling Roman aqueduct — whose gaunt, 
ruinous columns could be seen straggling 


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261 


away across the land like remnants of some 
race of fabled giants — and came to a standstill 
in the station. The two men picked up their 
slight baggage and got out. 

Neither had ever been in Mdrida before, 
and on the dusty platform they stood to take 
counsel while the train rumbled on its way. 

‘ This is a queer business, Little Bird,’ said 
the Scot. ‘ I know no more than Adam what 
this message means, yet it must be urgent. 
My firm must have sent it on the mere chance 
of its catching me. Three days ago, as soon 
as we had obtained our papers after landing, 
I wrote them of my intention to leave for 
Madrid and Barcelona by this train to-day, 
and they cannot long have had my letter. 
What do you make of it ? ’ 

Pablo Pajarillo shrugged his broad shoulders 
again. ‘ I confess I can see no meaning in it 
except what it says. What is a prator, Senor 
Bruce ? ’ 

‘A prsetor, amigo mio, is — or, rather, was 
— a Roman governor.’ 

‘ In that case,’ the Catalan replied ingenu- 
ously, ‘he must have been dead some time. 
We are to visit the gardener of a ghost.’ He 
crossed himself soberly. ‘ The sooner we begin 
the better.’ 

They went out of the station on to a 


262 


GREY FISH. 


dusty plaza, leaving their baggage at the 
office. 

The name of Merida is not to be found on 
the programme of the cheap and educative 
Spanish tour, and yet few cities of Europe 
have held their heads so high. Here was a 
capital city of Spain when Spain was giving 
emperors and generals, poets and philosophers, 
to swell the might and fame of Rome. The 
circuit of her great walls was six leagues, and 
her garrison of eighty thousand infantry and 
ten thousand horse made her one of the great 
strongholds of the Roman world. To-day 
Merida is a crumbling, fly-blown sepulchre, a 
cemetery filled with memorials of her mighty 
past. 

The companions crossed the plaza in the 
glaring sunshine, and stood to gaze at a little 
flower-grown enclosure, in the midst of which, 
raised on an ancient column, was a white 
modern statue of a young girl. 

‘ Madre de Dios, what a heat ! ’ muttered 
Pajarillo. 

It was, indeed, insufferably hot. But the 
Scot, with the energy of the North in his 
blood, and the educated man’s feeling for the 
past stirring within him, found the aspect of 
this place appealing. 

‘ Little Bird,’ said he, ‘ a glass of cool wine 


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263 


would be good for you. There is a posada of 
a sort yonder. As for me, I will join you 
later. But this place interests me, and I must 
explore it while the feeling is fresh. Our man 
will be at his siesta for the present. By-and- 
by we will go and find him.’ 

‘As you will, Senor Bruce. I admit that 
a glass of wine appeals more to me than 
walking in the sun about this city of once- 
upon-a-time.’ 

Pajarillo made for the posada; and Bruce, 
left to himself, sat down on a wooden bench 
beneath a tree facing the Roman column, and 
began to roll a cigarette. There was another 
man sitting on the seat, a stoutish, middle-aged 
man wearing sun-glasses and a broad straw 
hat, engaged in sketching the monument on 
an artist’s block. 

He glanced up as the Scot sat down. 
* Buenos dias, senor,' said he, civilly raising 
his hat. ‘ You are interested in antiquities ? ’ 

Bruce raised his hat in acknowledgment. 
‘ I am a man of my century, senor. But an 
occasional contemplation of the monuments 
of past ages leads us, I think, to view our own 
with a better sense of proportion.’ 

‘Very true.’ The stranger added a touch 
to his sketch. ‘This monument, now, is a 
curious mixture of the present and the past.’ 


264 


GREY FISH. 


‘ I confess I do not know whom it repre- 
sents,’ said Bruce. ‘ I am a stranger, brought 
hither by the accidental demands of business.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ The artist gave the young man a 
keen sidelong glance under his sun-glasses, 
and went on with his work. Bruce did not 
take to him. 

‘ The statue,’ said the artist, ‘ is of Saint 
Eulalia, patroness of this old city, one of the 
first female martyrs of Spain, according to 
tradition. They say that as a child she 
suffered by being baked in an oven, towards 
the end of the third century. Miracles have 
since been recorded of her, “ worthy of a great 
saint,” the ecclesiastical historians say. Her 
shrine over yonder is a still more curious com- 
position of antiquity and modernity. If your 
business allows you a day or two in Mdrida, 
you will find the city repay examination.’ He 
pointed wdth his pencil to a church not far 
away, in front of which was a massive ancient 
portico, surmounted by a new cupola in white 
marble. 

Bruce had an uneasy sensation that he was 
being minutely taken stock of by the learned 
artist. ‘ With permission,’ said he politely, ‘ I 
will stroll across and examine it. A thousand 
thanks, senor.’ 

He approached the quaint shrine of the 


BLACKLISTED. 


265 


oven-baked Eulalia. Side by side with the 
modern dedication to the Christian maiden, 
he deciphered in the old stone portico the 
worn, deep lettering of the Roman mason, 
dedicating the building to Mars, the war-god. 

Bruce wandered up a hill to a sunlit group 
of whitewashed buildings, huddled together in 
a mere comer of the vast site of the ancient 
capital. He picked his way amid the flies and 
the squalor of its mean and iU-kept streets, and 
suddenly a massive arch, rearing itself high 
above the houses, shut off the arrowy sun- 
beams — a triumphal arch to the emperor 
Trajan, built of great stones without cement, 
each stone crossing its entire width. On all 
sides of him the voices of long dead ages whis- 
pered to his imagination from crumbling stone 
and broken column. Bmce wandered on, 
and presently came to the Guadiana, sluggish 
now, and streaked with shoals in the hot 
September sun. But over its dawdling, murky 
waters a great Roman bridge, half-a-mile long, 
wdth scores of heavy arches, witnessed to the 
fiiry and the extent of the river when in flood. 
Upon inquiry, he learned — as he had guessed 
— that the massive wall fronting the hither 
end of the great bridge contained the ruins of 
the Roman praetor’s palace. He found also 
that visitors were admitted to inspect the 


266 


GREY FISH. 


place, and was shown the entrance. For an 
hour he sat in a shady spot beside the river, 
and indulged his fancy in dreams of the past. 
Then, recalling himself to the present and its 
quest, he set off to return to his companion. 

n. 

Bruce found his philosophic comrade en- 
gaged in a friendly game of cards with the 
landlord of the posada, and ordered refresh- 
ment for himself till the game should be 
played out. Then Pajarillo and he took their 
way together to the prsetor’s palace. The 
artist with the sun-glasses was by this time 
gone from the statue of Eulalia, but it ap- 
peared that he had paid a visit to the posada. 

‘ An inquisitive fellow,’ said Pajarillo. ‘ One 
must humour such. He gave me a good 
puro, and in exchange I fibbed to him that 
you were a commercial traveller from Zara- 
goza, and that I was your servant. When 
he had gone, the landlord told me about him. 
It seems he is a rich merchant from Madrid, 
who has retired here to lead a quiet life. He 
has hired one of the largest houses in the 
town, and spends his time making pictures 
of old buildings and entertaining his friends. 
An open-handed fellow, the landlord says. 
Nevertheless, I do not like him.’ 


BLACKLISTED. 


267 


‘ Nor I, Pablo. Is he a Spaniard ? ’ 

The hawk-faced old man gave his friend a 
quick glance. ‘Dios lo sabef he shrugged. 

‘ He speaks the Castilian, and I am a 
Catalan. His name is Marinero, but I never 
heard of mariners in Madrid.’ / 

‘ Well, the man is no concern of ours, Pablo 
mio. This is the way.’ 

Bruce turned into a cobbled side-street, and 
they came to a wrought-iron gateway in an 
old wall beneath orange-trees. To the woman 
who answei-ed the bell he explained that they 
sought permission to inspect the Roman ruin. 

The woman led them down a pleasant path- 
way, arched with trailing roses. Half-way 
down it a similar path running off at right 
angles gave access to a rambling stone build- 
ing, in appearance half - ecclesiastical, half- 
domestic. Stopping at the angle, she pointed 
on to where the first path opened upon an 
extensive garden. 

‘ The house is occupied, cahalleros,' said she. 
* It is the old walls of the garden which the 
learned, who sometimes come here, always 
wish to examine ; though what Christians find 
to interest them in these old stones of the 
heathen I confess I do not know. Be good 
enough to summon me when you return.’ 
Emerging from the trailing roses, the two 


268 


SREY FISH. 


companions found themselves in a place fit 
to charm the soul of an artist or a poet. A 
fragrant garden, rich with all that the Southern 
sun could ripen, filled a great quadrangle en- 
closed by the street wall and the house on 
one side, and on the other three by the vast, 
crumbling walls of the Roman age. Here a 
grove of gnarled grey olives, here figs and 
oranges, citrons and pomegranates, and many 
fruits and flowers strange to Northern eyes, 
throve in the fertile soil. They slowly crossed 
the garden to the massive walls on the farther 
side. There, in an angle of the Roman wall, 
where a bastion looked far out over the river 
and the undulating landscape, a mule har- 
nessed at the end of a long wooden bar was 
plodding slowly round and round, drawing up 
water from a subterranean cistern by means 
of a chain of little vessels, on the prehistoric 
principle still followed in the East. In the hot 
sunshine the musical plash of the water falling 
from the revolving vessels into the receiving- 
tank had a tantalising sound. Under a fig- 
tree hard by, an aged gardener, with a hat of 
monstrous brim, sat smoking the eternal cigar- 
ette, uttering an occasional ^ Arre!' to remind 
the leisurely mule that it was supposed to be 
working, and then relapsing into meditation. 

At the appi’oach of strangers the old man 


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269 


rose courteously. ‘You would see the ruins, 
Caballeros?' He led them on to the time- 
worn battlements, from which they looked 
out upon the sun-baked slopes beyond the 
modern city. As they picked their way along 
he pointed out the most prominent objects 
around : the long Roman bridge, the arch of 
Trajan, the broken ruin of a vast amphitheatre 
— ‘ the Seven Seats,’ the old man called it — 
which rose against the sky, and the tottering 
arches of mighty aqueducts that once brought 
drinking-water from many miles away. De- 
scending again into the garden, he led his 
charges under an arched stone entrance-way, 
and so back to his cistern by an underground 
passage, walled and roofed with stone, and 
concealing in its gloom, as the old man showed 
them with a candle, marble pillars admirably 
carved, of differing styles and epochs. They 
all sat down again under the fig-tree, and the 
guide accepted a proffered cigar with a courtly 
air. 

‘Many a man,’ said Bruce sententiously, 
‘weary of the bustling life of cities, would 
think himself in Eden to have the charge of 
a garden such as this.’ 

The old fellow nodded. ‘ I have dwelt here 
thirty years, senor. And yet even in Eden 
there was the serpent.’ 


270 


GREY FISH. 


‘ Very true,’ the Scot agreed. ‘ Let us hope 
you have none here, senor gardener.’ 

‘ Quien sabe ? The serpent is a wily beast, 
senor.’ 

Bruce felt that he was approaching his 
affair. ‘ This Merida of yours is an interesting 
city,’ he said carelessly. ‘ I should be sorry to 
have missed the opportunity of seeing it. A 
friend of many years, a Senor M‘Allister, gave 
me the good advice to come.’ He saw the old 
gardener start. 

‘ Y ou are from Barcelona ? ’ came the ques- 
tion in a lowered voice. 

‘ Both of us,’ Bruce replied. ‘ Is it possible 
that you are acquainted with Senor M‘Allister, 
of the firm M‘Ilroy, MTlroy, & M‘Allister ? ’ 

‘Senor M'Allister has been a kind bene- 
factor to me,’ the old man answered simply. 
‘ It was he who obtained me my post here 
with the count, to whom the place belongs. 
And years afterwards he took my son into his 
employ, and my son has made good progress 
with that excellent firm.’ 

‘ I should know your son. What is his 
name ? ’ 

‘ Arleto is my name, senor.’ 

‘ Enrique Arleto is, then, your son ? ’ Bruce 
smiled. ‘ Enrique is one of our most trusted 
clerks.’ 


BLACKIJSTED, 


271 


The old man rose and bowed his pleasure at 
the compliment. ‘ If I might know, senor, to 
whom I have the honour to speak ? ’ 

‘ I am Donald Bruce, confidential secretary 
to Senor M‘Allister.’ 

Arleto raised his great hat, turned a moment 
to stimulate the flagging energies of the mule 
with a sharp '^Arre!' and looked cautiously 
round the garden. ‘ A few days ago,’ said he, 
‘ I sent a letter to my son, Enrique.’ 

Pablo Pajarillo, who had sat quietly smoking 
thus far, had followed the gardener’s glance. 
He broke in harshly, ‘ Seftor Arleto, with 
permission, my friend and I would like to 
inspect once more those marble pillars in the 
subway.’ 

The gardener showed surprise at the sudden 
request, but led the way down again without 
a word. 

‘My apologies for interrupting,’ said the 
Catalan calmly. ‘ Pray proceed with your 
conversation, gentlemen.’ 

Old Arleto looked earnestly at Bruce. 
‘Since you are in the confidence of my 
benefactor, I will say that in my letter to 
Enrique I hinted at a possible danger to Seftor 
M‘Allister.’ 

‘ Of what nature, my friend ? ’ 

‘I cannot tell, seftor. Three months ago 


272 


GREY FISH. 


the count let this place to a certain Senor 
Marinero.’ 

‘ Who has just entered the garden from the 
house,’ observed the Little Bird. 

‘ Dios / I did not see him ! ’ The gardener’s 
uneasiness was obvious. ‘Is he coming this 
way?’ 

‘ He is not,’ said Pajarillo. ‘ But it occurred 
to me that he might. He is sitting under a 
cypress-tree with a newspaper. To tell you 
the truth, he is too inquisitive a gentleman for 
my taste, Senor Arleto.’ 

‘ I am afraid of him I ’ the old man blurted 
out. ‘ I must be quick with what I have to 
say.’ 

‘ Calm yourself,’ said Bruce. ‘ Senor Mari- 
nero knows nothing of us.’ 

‘ Quien sabe ? He knows more than people 
think. These are dangerous times, and he is 
a dangerous man. I am placing my safety, 
perhaps, in your hands, Caballeros, but I owe 
a duty to my kind benefactor. Here is the 
reason for the letter which I wrote to my son.’ 
The old man drew from his pocket a sheet 
of paper, and spread it out in the ray of the 
candle, which he had relit. 

Down the left-hand margin of the paper, in 
bold writing, were inscribed half-a-dozen names 
which the Scot instantly recognised as those 


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273 


of some of the most prominent British agents 
and business houses in the Peninsula. In the 
space against each was a brief report in Ger- 
man script. The first three names were struck 
through in red ink, and against each were set 
the initials ‘ F.v.F.’ The fourth name on 
the list was that of M'llroy, M‘Ilroy, and 
M‘Allister. Bruce knew sufficient German 
to make out the notes written against the 
name, in a different hand, but with no attempt 
at disguise. ‘ Details most difficult,’ they 
ran, ‘ but all information indicates dangerous 
activity. Loss of several successful U. confi- 
dently beUeved traceable to secret action on 
part of this concern. Suppression urgently 
necessary. Recommend great caution.’ The 
notes appended to the other names on the list 
ran on similar lines. 

‘Where did you obtain this paper, my 
friend ? ’ asked Bruce. 

‘On the day I wrote to my son, senor, I 
was gathering figs from the tree yonder under 
the wall. Senor Marinero was writing in the 
arbour near by, when a message was brought 
him from the house, and he left suddenly, 
thrusting his papers into his pocket. I noticed 
one of the papers slip to the ground, but he 
was in a hurry, and did not observe it. 
When I had filled my basket I came down 

R 


274 


GREY FISH. 


and picked up the paper, intending to give 
it to him. But as I picked it up I noticed 
the name of my benefactor, and then I looked 
and saw these other names. As for the 
writing between, I could make nothing of it. 
But I saw some names were struck out, and 
I read the newspapers, senor. There is the 
name of Senor Robertson, of Madrid. The 
papers said that he was killed in a climbing 
accident in the Pyrenees. There was the 
mining firm of Belper. Their works were 
wrecked by a great explosion a month ago, 
and Senor Belper was among the dead. And 
there was the consul, Thomas, who disappeared 
so strangely only a fortnight since.’ 

‘What kind of persons are in the habit 
of visiting Senor Marinero here ? ’ Bruce 
inquired. 

‘ Some Spaniards, some foreigners. Usually 
they arrive in the night.’ 

‘ What else do you know of this Marinero ? ’ 

‘Nothing, Caballeros, except that he paints 
many pictures, and sometimes he is absent for 
days at a time from the town. He pays well, 
and therefore is well spoken of.’ 

‘ An easy road to good repute,’ commented 
Bruce. ‘ Well, senor gardener, it grows 
towards evening, and we have to find an inn. 
It is fortunate that you and we have met, and 


BI-ACKLISTED. 


275 


maybe we shall meet again. Meantime, I 
rely on your discretion.’ 

‘ To see, to hear, and to be silent are three 
rooms in wisdom’s house,’ said the old gardener 
as they emerged again from the subway. 

III. 

Bruce and Pajarillo recrossed the garden 
in the glow of approaching sunset, and, as 
requested, summoned the concierge to let 
them out. 

‘ Senor Marinero has finished his paper,’ said 
the Little Bird. 

The woman led them back to the door in 
the street wall, and having received a gratuity, 
was about to open it, when footsteps sounded 
behind them, and Marinero himself came down 
the path. Greeting them courteously, he dis- 
missed the servant, saying he would himself 
let them out. ‘ But first,’ he added when the 
woman had left, ‘ let me assure myself, gentle- 
men, that you have seen all my poor house 
has to show.’ 

‘We have spent an interesting and in- 
structive hour, senor,’ answered Bruce. ‘ You 
are fortunate indeed to have found a retreat 
so full of historic memories.’ 

‘ Full, indeed, it is,’ Marinero agreed — 
‘ fuller even than your short visit might 


276 


GREY FISH. 


suggest. The house itself, as you will have 
perceived, is comparatively modern, but it is 
not, perhaps, known to you that the Moors, 
as well as the Romans, had a fortress here, and 
that in parts of this building the tribunals of 
the Holy Office were held during the period 
of their power.’ 

‘ I confess we had no idea of it,’ answered 
the Scot. 

‘ You must return another day, and make 
a fuller examination at your leisure, gentlemen. 
But, to whet your curiosity, I must show you, 
before you go, something of what still awaits 
your attention. Come.’ 

He led them along the inner side of the 
street wall to where it made a corner with 
the Roman masonry. Here a short flight of 
worn stone steps descended to a small Moorish 
doorway cut in the older stonework of the 
wall. ‘ I take it,’ Senor Marinero said, ‘ that 
this door took the place of an older one dating 
from the Roman epoch, for it is inconceivable 
that the chambers to which it leads could ever 
have been hewn out, once the wall had been 
constructed.’ 

With a key which hung from a nail he 
opened a worm-eaten oak door, and lighting 
a candle which stood within, proceeded along 
a narrow stone passage, flanked on either side 


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277 


by small chambers that had apparently served 
as dungeons. Tiny windows in the inner side 
of these gloomy cells admitted from the 
passage itself the only light and air which they 
received. Presently the passage widened into 
a fair-sized square room constructed in the 
thickness of the wall, floored with stone, and 
lit by two slits from the side of the garden. 
Immediately beneath these windows, if such 
they could be called, was a small raised dais, 
and round the walls of the apartment, and here 
and there on the stone roof, were remnants of 
rings and iron constructions of a sinister look. 

‘ I imagine this,’ said Senor Marinero, ‘ to 
have been a kind of examination-room for 
prisoners. We are fortunate to have been 
born in another age.’ He shrugged his 
shoulders, and passing through the grim room, 
went on along the passage. A little farther 
on it ended abruptly in a much smaller room, 
perfectly circular, and floored with wood 
instead of stone. A single slit in the garden 
wall admitted a faint glow of the evening 
light, and below the slit several stone steps 
were built into the wall. Beneath the per- 
pendicular slit of the window was a narrow 
horizontal one, which admitted no light, and 
from one end of which a thick iron bar or 
lever protruded, 


278 


6KEY FISH. 


‘ This room, gentlemen, is one of the most 
curious in the whole place,’ said Senor 
Marinero. ‘ As the light is fading, it will be 
convenient if we conclude our tour here for 
the present. This room has evidently been 
used in comparatively recent times, and its 
purpose is a sti’ange one. With your per- 
mission, I will show you a quaint example of 
medieval ingenuity.’ He ascended the stone 
steps, and placing his candle on the top one, 
took hold of the iron bar. Looking back over 
his shoulder with a smile, he added, ‘If you 
will stand somewhere towards the middle of 
the room, you will better appreciate the effect.’ 

Totally unsuspecting, the two friends did as 
requested. 

Bearing his weight on the lever, Marinero 
thrust it the full length of the slit in the wall. 
A rumbling seemed to come from all round 
the room, and a wild shout broke from the 
Little Bird : ‘ Treachery ! Madre de Dios ! ’ 

He sprang for the corridor, but too late. 
Responding to some infernal mechanism, the 
wooden floor gave way suddenly beneath their 
feet, and, like children shot off a seesaw, Bruce 
and Pajarillo were precipitated violently into 
a chamber below. 

Bruised and half-stunned by the fall, they 
looked up from the darkness of their prison, 


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and saw their guide, candle in hand, peering 
down from the security of his stone perch with 
an expression of malignant triumph. 

‘ What do you think of our Moorish mouse- 
trap ? ’ he cried, shaking the fist of his left 
hand at them. ‘ English spy and Spanish cut- 
throat, what do you think of this interesting 
example of medieval ingenuity ? ’ 

With a great effort controlling his voice, 
Bruce answered, ‘Do you intend to murder 
us ?’ 

‘ I will tell you a little story, English pig,’ 
said the other. ‘A fine romance, by Franz 
von Festinghaus.’ He laughed gloatingly. 
‘ There are two villains in my story. One is 
called Donald Bruce, and the other Pajarillo.’ 

A knife flashed suddenly out of the darkness 
past the candle, but the Little Bird was too 
shaken by his fall for a true throw, and striking 
harmlessly on the stone wall, the knife fell 
back into the blackness below. 

‘Do not interrupt,’ said the German, with 
a grin. ‘If an5rthing happened to me, you 
would assuredly never get out. Well, there 
was once a fine fellow named Franz von 
Festinghaus, of good family, but poor, and 
condemned for the sake of the Fatherland to 
labour in that desert of thieves called Spain. 
Of that cursed land this Franz, by industry 


280 


GREY FISH. 


and application, acquired a very thorough 
knowledge, which enabled him, to his great 
joy, to give valuable help to his country in her 
struggle against the attacks of her enemies. 
In his youth he had served in the glorious 
German Navy, and by care and forethought, 
and his wide acquaintance and influence in 
Spain, he was able to contrive many schemes 
to aid our gallant undersea boats, which earned 
him high commendation from his country’s 
representatives, and were even brought to the 
notice of the All-Highest War Lord himself. 
After some time, however, it began to be 
evident that sinister agencies were working on 
the part of the enemies of Kultur ; unaccount- 
able disasters overtook many of our heroic 
vessels. The representatives of his country 
sent for Franz, our hero. Money without 
limit, and the services of a regiment of trusty 
agents throughout Spain, were placed at his 
disposal. Two orders only were given him — 
“ Protect our heroes, and destroy those who 
are working against them.” Well, he set to 
work, our Franz ; but the task was hard and 
dangerous, for the enemies were cunning, and 
left little trace. They were working, more- 
over, not all together, or on any settled plan — 
for our enemies do not understand co-ordina- 
tion — but like blind mules they were toiling 


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obstinately, one here, one there, to defeat our 
successful campaign whereby we hold the 
Mediterranean in a grip of terror. 

‘ I will not tell you how Franz obtained his 
information, but he obtained it, and as the 
evidence accumulated against this or that 
agent of our foes, one by one was suppressed. 
But month after month there came stories 
of two men, an Englishman and a Spaniard, 
and wherever these two went there occurred 
mysterious losses to our cause. Whence they 
came, and who financed them, it was long ere 
Franz von Festinghaus could ascertain ; and 
even to-day there is much to be explained. 
As for the Spaniard, he was reported to have 
been a notorious smuggler, and to have lost a 
brother in one of the ships torpedoed by our 
commanders. The unearthing of these two 
men caused our Franz more uneasiness — yes, 
I will admit it — more fear and worry, than 
any other inquiry. It was just when he had 
begun to despair of bringing them to book 
that one of their shrewdest blows against the 
Fatherland gave him at last the opportunity 
he sought. Through the plotting of these 
two villains, a trusty comrade, who Avas gain- 
ing valuable information for our commanders, 
was shot by the French on the frontiers of 
Andorra. The French did everything possible 


282 


GREY FISH. 


to keep the matter secret ; but it is not easy to 
defeat our intelligence service, and at length, 
to his joy, Franz received from a sure hand 
a series of photographs of these two men. 
That was some two months ago, but in two 
months much may happen. Copies of these 
photographs were disseminated through Spain, 
wherever a faithful soul was working for the 
Fatherland, and high rewards were promised 
to him who should succeed in tracking those 
villains. Two days since a telegram — oh, a 
harmless commercial message — came to me 
from Portugal. The spoor had been struck I 
And then, like a gift from the gods, this very 
day, as I was pursuing my hobby of an artist 
outside the station, behold, the very men 
came walking up to me ! I knew them at 
once, so carefully had I studied the photo- 
graphs. Yet at first I dared not believe my 
eyes. I studied them both. I studied the 
likeness again. I was certain ! And now, 
Gott sei Dank, they are down there ! ’ The 
German shook his fist again with fierce 
delight. ‘ And they ask what I am going to 
do with them ! Ach, my good mouse-trap — 
it is kolossal! ’ 

‘ This is a civilised land,’ said Bruce. ‘ It is 
known that we came to this house. There 
will be inquiries.’ 


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283 


‘And it will be known that you left, swine- 
dog ! ’ was the answer. ‘ My servant saw you 
to the door, whence I myself can swear that 
I dismissed you. And who will be likely to 
inquire about you ? ’ 

‘ Those who sent me hither,’ answered the 
Scot. ‘ And they have a long arm, Herr von 
Festinghaus.’ 

‘ They will need it, to reach you,’ laughed 
the German. ‘But this brings us to some- 
thing practical. Who are “they”? I have 
suspicions, and a chain of evidence, but it 
lacks the connecting link. If either of you 
wishes to see again the light of the sun, you 
will answer that question, and in exchange for 
the information, duly verified, I will give you 
your lives.’ 

‘ And the alternative ? ’ 

‘To lie there till you rot,’ answered the 
German brutally. 

‘And what security have we that your 
promise will be kept ? ’ asked Bruce, steadying 
his voice. 

‘ The word of Franz von Festinghaus.’ 

‘For my part, the security is insufficient,’ 
answered Bruce. ‘ My companion will exercise 
his own judgment.’ 

‘Senor Bruce,’ said the Little Bird, ‘it 
coincides with yours.’ 


284 


GKEY FISH. 


‘ In that case,’ said Von Festinghaus, ‘ I 
leave you to your reflections. To-night I 
start for Barcelona to remove another obstacle 
to our cause. In a few days, when I return, 
1 will come and see whether your views — if 
by that time either of you still has any — 
remain the same. Buenas noches, Caballeros ! ’ 
He set the candle on the stair again, dragged 
at the lever, and the great timbered floor, 
which hung aslant like a tilted plate, slowly 
resumed its horizontal position, shutting off 
from the captives the last spark of light. 
They heard the German’s footsteps die away 
in the stone passage ; then all was dark and 
silent as the gi-ave. 


IV. 

‘ This is an evil place, Seftor Bruce,’ came 
the voice of the Catalan presently through 
the blackness. ‘ I ask your forgiveness.’ 

‘ For what. Little Bird ? ’ 

‘ If I had restrained myself a little, my knife 
would have gone through that fellow’s throat. 
A man’s temper should be under better control 
at my age.’ 

‘ Nonsense ! ’ said Bruce testily. ‘It is I 
who am to blame for leading you into this, 
Pablo. Yet, sooner or later, there must be 
inquiry after us,’ 


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285 


‘ Sooner or later,’ echoed Pajarillo grimly. 
‘ It is not to be denied that that fellow is 
clever. But he is no Christian.’ 

‘ He is a devil ! ’ cried Bruce. ‘ Are you 
hurt, Pablo ? ’ 

‘ My left wrist is sprained, and my legs are 
bruised.’ 

‘ I am not hurt. I must have fallen on you,’ 
said Bruce. He struck a match. Its feeble 
glow showed how desperate was their position. 
The floor of the cell was of dry earth, smooth 
and hard. The grim wall which everywhere 
surrounded them, massive stone on massive 
stone, gave not the faintest hope. Ten feet 
above their heads the huge wooden floor of the 
chamber above shut them down — ‘like the 
lid on a saucepan,’ as Pajarillo said. Along 
the middle of it a great iron bar provided 
the axis on which the floor had swung. The 
nature of the mechanism which operated the 
turning was not apparent, but on the cir- 
cumference of the floor on one side were 
metal claws which now held the floor in 
position. 

There came a sudden flutter of wings in 
the pit, and something struck the flickering 
match from the Scot’s Angers. ‘ A bat ! ’ he 
exclaimed, starting back with repulsion. 

* Where bats can enter, air can enter. Light 


286 


OBEY FISH. 


another match, amigo,' said Pajarillo. Bruce 
did so, and Pajarillo groped about the floor. 
‘ Gracias a Dios ! ' he cried, ‘ my knife is not 
broken. Viva the steel of Toledo ! ’ 

‘ Toledo steel will not cut through Roman 
masonry. Little Bird.’ 

‘Nevertheless, with this in my belt I feel 
better. One more match, now, and a cigarette 
apiece, while we compose our minds.’ 

The cigarettes were lighted, and the com- 
panions sat smoking in the terrible dark. 

‘ Pablo,’ said Bruce, ‘ I have not your philo- 
sophy. God knows, our own state is bad 
enough, but there will be murder done in 
Barcelona when that German villain gets 
there.’ 

‘ If so, we cannot help it, Senor Bruce. It 
is a mistake to think of what one cannot help. 
There is but one thing for us to think of, and 
it is how we are to get out.’ 

‘ It is impossible,’ said Bruce wildly. 

‘I admit I fear it. Yet a man’s brains are 
for thinking, and may the good God direct 
our thoughts ! ’ 

‘Little Bird,’ said Bruce in a harsh voice, 
‘ if I go mad in this awful place, strike that 
knife of yours into my heart. Strike true, 
and Heaven reward you ! ’ 

‘Dear friend, whom I love,’ the Catalan 


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replied, ‘ if the time comes I will strike, and 
strike for two. But the time has not come. 
Think!’ 

They sat a long time smoking in silence, 
then threw away the ends of their cigarettes, 
and watched the tiny red sparks go out. In 
the utter stillness each could hear the other’s 
breathing. 

‘ Little Bird ! ’ whispered Bruce at length. 
There was no reply. ‘ Little Bird ! ’ he whis- 
pered more loudly. Still no reply, though the 
breathing beside him came deep and regular. 
Bruce realised with a shock that the old man 
was asleep ! 

Well, let him sleep. Bruce knew it would 
be cruelty to disturb him. Long he sat listen- 
ing to that regular breathing, filled with 
agonised thoughts. At last he, too, must 
have dozed, for he suddenly felt his shoulder 
shaken, and discovered his companion stand- 
ing in the dark beside him. 

‘ Awake, senor ; awake 1 ’ cried Pajarillo, and 
his voice had a confident ring. ‘ I have slept, 
but I have dreamed a good dream in a bad 
place. I was home in Barcelona, and from 
the glare of the streets 1 had stepped into the 
gloom of our grand old cathedral to say a 
prayer of thanks to San Pablo, my protector, 
in his chapel behind the apse. I had lit a 


288 


GREY FISH. 


candle before the image, and, as it burned, 
suddenly the flame shot upwards — a keen 
white shaft of fire that struck to the very roof. 
I watched in fear, and saw that the roof was 
burning, but I could not move. Then a 
glowing beam fell at my feet, and looking 
up, I saw the fire extinguished, and through 
the roof the moon sailing in heaven.’ 

‘ An odd dream, amigo. Would we w'ere 
in the cathedral now ! ’ 

‘ With the blessing of God we shall be 
there ere many days. Strike a match, Senor 
Bruce.’ 

Before the match went out, the Catalan 
picked up their two straw hats from where 
they had rolled. Bruce heard him tearing the 
straw. ‘ Now,’ said Pajarillo, ‘ take my knife, 
and get upon my shoulders. You are the 
smaller man. Cut away at the lid of our 
saucepan as hard as you can.’ 

‘ Cut through a solid oak floor with a sheath- 
knife ! ’ 

' Por Dios, if there were no better way, I 
would try that, ere I would die like a rat in 
a hole ! But, by the blessing of the saints, 
we have both steel and fire. Oh, la-la ! The 
good San Pablo shall have his candle ! Quick ! 
Climb!’ 

Understanding came to the Scot. Des- 


BI,ACKI,ISTED. 


289 


perate as was the expedient, it gave new hope. 
‘ You would have us burn our way out, Little 
Bird ! ’ 

‘ I would have us try. Step by step the 
pilgrim goes to Rome. Mount, and begin. 
Cut little chips and strips, till the knife bites 
well. Above all, do not snap the blade. 
When you tire, you shall carry me.’ 

Scrambling on his friend’s broad shoulders, 
Bruce struck a match. The Catalan carried 
him to a point immediately beneath one of 
the iron clamps which held the floor, then 
bade him stand on his shoulders and steady 
himself by the wall as he worked. ‘ Keep the 
knife clear of the iron ! ’ he warned. 

In the inky darkness the Scotsman began 
hollowing out the timber above the iron as 
PajariUo directed. It was fatiguing labour 
for a man who had not tasted food for many 
hours. After a while they changed parts, and 
so, taking turn and turn about, worked fever- 
ishly till exhaustion compelled a rest. By 
that time they had hollowed out two respect- 
able scoops in the thick, though worm-eaten, 
timber, one horizontally above the iron claw, 
the other straight upwards through the floor, 
so far that its apex made a hole an inch or 
two in diameter. A match which they struck 
to inspect the result of their labours showed 


290 


GREY FISH. 


a goodly heap of chips and shavings on the 
floor of their prison. 

‘ It will do,’ pronounced Pajarillo. ‘ The 
timber is dry.’ 

They stretched their aching limbs on the 
ground, and smoked another cigarette. 

‘ Now for San Pablo’s candle 1 ’ said the 
Little Bird. ‘ First we will offer him our hats. 
Fill your pockets with chips. I will do like- 
wise, and mount first.’ 

Climbing up again, the Catalan inserted the 
strips of torn straw into the horizontal funnel, 
and applied a match. As the flame took hold, 
he fed it with chips of wood, dodging from 
time to time the burning fragments as they 
fell. When they had burnt up all the wood 
in their pockets they refilled them, and Bruce 
took his turn as stoker. By now the fire had 
gained a grip of the thick, dry timbers of the 
floor, and the flames licked redly round the 
angle between the funnels and up the chimney 
formed by the upright one. A few minutes 
later the corner of the floor was unmistakably 
on fire above their heads. With the heat and 
the smoke beginning to trouble them, the two 
prisoners strove to confine the outbreak to 
the area round the hole. In this they 
succeeded beyond their hopes, the strong 
draught created by the little window in the 


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291 


upper chamber causing the flames to roar 
lustily up through the chimney, while leaving 
them comparatively cool below. Their prin- 
cipal danger was from the burning fragments 
that fell upon them as they worked. 

Gradually the heat and smoke increased. 
The hole burned larger and larger ; but their 
throats parched and their breath came in pants 
as they hacked at its glowing rim. From 
time to time they flung themselves down on 
the floor to escape the fumes ; but they dared 
not lie long, lest the whole mass of timber 
above them should ignite and bake them, 
like St Eulalia, in an oven. 

At last, as they were lying face downward 
in the remotest part of their prison, a great 
slab of red-hot timber crashed to the ground, 
leaving the gap nearly a yard across. 

‘We must put the fire out!’ gasped the 
Little Bird. ‘ Can you bear me ? ’ 

They kicked the blazing fragments from 
under the hole, and acrid smoke filled the pit. 
Bruce tottered towards the fire, and the Catalan, 
climbing on his shoulders, hacked wildly at 
the burning edges above him till the showering 
fragments drove them, choking, back. Again 
and again they returned half-fainting to the 
attack, but little by little the conflagration 
was being curbed. Nerved by desperation, 


292 


GREY FISH. 


they conquered at last, and, utterly prostrated 
by their frightful ordeal, flung themselves, 
scorched and gasping, on the ground. 

A long time they lay there like dying men, 
while the air slowly freshened about them, 
and above them the charred wood slowly 
cooled. Then they staggered to their feet 
again, and cut away the still glowing edges, 
and rested once more. 

‘ It will be cool enough to try now,’ said 
Bruce at last. ‘ Come, Little Bird.’ The 
younger man’s vitality had lasted the better, 
and it was he who now, though his limbs 
tottered under him, took his companion on 
his shoulders. Getting his arms and shoulders 
through the gap, the Little Bird dragged 
himself up. It was too far down for him to 
reach his friend, but stripping off some of his 
clothes, the Catalan made a rude rope, by 
means of which, despite his injured wrist, he 
hauled the young man up after him. They 
rested again ere making their way along the 
dark passage by which they had entered, only 
to find the door at the end fast locked. 

* Ay de mi ! ’ groaned Pajarillo, ‘ that villain 
did not mean us to escape. But it is an old 
lock, amigo. It should be reasonable.’ 

They flung their united weight upon the 
door. The rusted lock gave with a crash, and 


BLACKIJSTED. 


298 


stumbling out into the blessed air, they 
ascended the worn stone steps to the garden, 
and found themselves face to face with the 
old gardener. 

White to the hps, the old man stood back 
against the street wall, and stared as at an 
apparition. And indeed, haggard and grimed 
with their fighting of the fire, with torn and 
burned clothing, they were a sufficiently terri- 
fying pair to emerge in the first paling of 
dawn from the heart of the ancient ruins. 

Bruce went and took the old man by the 
arm. ‘Senor gardener, where is that villain, 
your master ? ’ 

The hue of life came slowly back into the 
old man’s face. ‘ Madre purisima ! ’ he stam- 
mered. ‘ It is the Caballeros of yesterday ! 
Senor Marinero went by the night train for 
Madrid. I smelt fire, gentlemen, and came 
into the garden.’ 

‘Senor Marinero has tried to murder us,’ 
said Bruce. ‘ Get us out of this quickly, and 
say nothing to any one.’ 

‘ There is no one in the house except my 
wife, who is deaf, and my daughter, who 
answers the door, and she is asleep.’ 

‘ In that case, we will go first to the well, 
and wash and drink.’ 

As they crossed the garden Bruce outlined 


294 


GREY FISH. 


their night’s experience, amid exclamations of 
sympathetic horror on the part of the old 
man. While they washed he brought them 
food, so that when they emerged later into 
the street their aspect was less calculated than 
it had been to arouse terror or suspicion. 
There was no train for the capital till nine 
o’clock, by which hour they had each pur- 
chased a much-needed new suit of clothes. 

V. 

On the slope of a wooded hill in the 
pleasant environs of Barcelona, a narrow gate- 
way gives access from the road to a well-kept 
drive which, sweeping in wide curves through 
groves of oranges, citrons, and figs, leads to 
the white fa9ade of a wealthy merchant’s 
country seat. In a shady arbour, overlooking 
the rich plain, the distant city, and the blue sea 
beyond, an old man was sitting, with a girl 
of twenty summers at his side. The sunny 
garden around them was musical with the 
plash of fountains, and fragrant with the scent 
of flowers. It was Sunday, and a lifelong 
residence in the South had not changed the 
attitude of old Alan M‘Allister to that day. 
In no single office or wharf of the many which 
his firm possessed throughout Spain was any 
business done on the first day of the week. A 


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little Union- Jack hung over the arbour. A 
letter lay open on the old gentleman’s knee — 
a letter from his only son, a captain in His 
Majesty’s Navy. A proud light shone in the 
old eyes as he gazed out over the Mediter- 
ranean. 

‘Thank God, you have a brave man for 
your father, child,’ he was saying. ‘I won 
riches ; but my son is winning honour. Eh, 
Flora, but this war makes an old fellow wish 
he were young ! ’ 

The fair-haired girl smiled. ‘How many 
old gentlemen of seventy-five could say posi- 
tively, grandad, that they had put six German 
submarines out of action ? ’ 

Alan M‘Allister shook his white head. ‘ My 
dear, I am only the cashier. It is that young 
dare-devil, Donald, who is delivering the goods 
— he and that queer smuggler friend pf his.’ 

‘ I wonder where they are now,’ said Flora. 
A far-away look came into her blue eyes. 

‘ If I were to guess, I should say at Merida. 
In a day or two they ought to be home.’ 

‘ Oh ! ’ cried the girl. ‘ And you never told 
me !’ 

A trim maid crossed the lawn to them, 
bearing a card on a silver tray. ‘ A gentleman 
wishes to speak to you, seflor, on very urgent 
business.’ 


296 


GREY FISH. 


M‘Allister passed the card to his grand- 
daughter. ‘ Who is it, Flora ? Your eyes 
are young.’ 

The Scottish girl took the card and read : 
‘ Hernando Marinero, Casa del Palacio, Merida.’ 
She glanced at her grandfather, but the wrinkled 
old face told nothing. 

‘ Bring him here at once, Anita,’ he ordered. 

A minute later the German stood bowing 
before them. 

‘ You come from Merida, senor ? I — I do 
not think we have met before ? ’ 

The anxiety behind the controlled old voice 
was too obvious to escape the astute Teuton. 
He bowed again, and took the opportunity to 
steal an appraising glance at the girl. Her 
sudden pallor confirmed his theory. He gave 
himself the pleasure of playing a little further 
upon their emotions. ‘From Merida, senor. 
I found your business office closed, but the 
caretaker gave me your address, and I came 
immediately.’ 

‘ I understand your business is urgent, 
senor ? ’ 

‘ It is, alas ! It is a business of life and 
death.’ 

Flora M‘Allister sprang to her feet. ‘ Has 
anything happened to Senor Bruce?’ she 
cried. 


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297 


Franz von Festinghaus looked grave, but 
in his heart he triumphed. ‘ Senorita, I 
grieve to say that Senor Bruce’s days are 
numbered.’ 

Alan M'Allister, too, was on his feet, 
clutching the back of his chair with his 
hands. ‘What is this you tell us — Donald 
Bruce dying ? ’ 

‘Alas, senor! To-day, perhaps, or it may 
be in two days, or even a week. But it 
appears that he has a report to make to you 
— a matter of such importance that, though 
he lies in my house, I could not persuade 
him to entrust me with it. If he could see 
you personally, it would, I think, relieve his 
mind.’ 

‘ And his companion — what of him ? ’ 

‘ His companion, unfortunately, is in prison. 
I do not profess to know the details of this 
matter, senor. I only know that Senor Bruce 
lies very near to death, and that I have taken 
him into my house.’ 

‘ But the trains I ’ cried the old merchant. 
‘Diosf The trains of this country will take 
two days to get me to my friend. He may 
be dead by then.’ 

‘Too true, senor. Yet, if you would con- 
descend to make use of my automobile, which 
stands at your door, we should be there long 


298 


GREY PISH. 


before the railway could take us. It is a good 
machine, well found. On the way I could 
tell you all I know of this sad affair.’ 

The old man looked with troubled eyes at 
his granddaughter. ‘Flora, I must go at 
once,’ he said in English. 

‘ Take me with you ! ’ she pleaded. ‘ Oh, 
grandad ! ’ A deep blush coloured her face, 
and was followed by deadly paleness. 

‘ Go and get ready, child,’ he said with great 
tenderness. — ‘ Senor Marinero, in five minutes 
we will accompany you. Forgive me if I seem 
discourteous. This is a great blow — a very 
heavy blow ! ’ 

* I believe you, senor.’ The German bowed 
with horrible irony. ‘ I will go and see that 
all is ready for you and the senorita.’ 

VI. 

The trim maid-servant had left Senor Mari- 
nero in a cool apartment, and had set before 
him a box of the best cigars and a bottle of 
wine — one of the choicest wines of M‘Ilroy, 
M'llroy, & M‘Allister. She was returning 
to her quarters, when the bell summoned her 
again to the door. Another car had drawn 
up, and in the porch two men were standing — 
two haggard, travel-stained men. Anita first 
looked at them askance, and then stood back 


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299 


with an exclamation. One of the men she 
knew, but, Dios, how he was changed 1 

‘ Senor Bruce 1 ’ she almost gasped. 

‘ The master is at home ? ’ demanded Bruce 
abruptly. 

‘ Si, senor. But he is going out. A gentle- 
man has called for him. His car is waiting, 
as you see.’ 

‘ What gentleman ? Tell me, Anita ; it is 
important.’ 

‘ A Senor Marinero.’ 

‘ Anita mia, I must see Senor M'Allister at 
once. At once, you understand I And Senor 
Marinero must not know that I see him. Take 
me to him 1 ’ 

‘To hear is to obey,’ said Anita, with a 
curtsy in which was some mockery, for she 
was a favoured domestic, and not accustomed 
to this curt tone from one who was a frequent 
visitor to the house. 

Before accompanying her Bruce spoke in a 
low voice to his companion. ‘ Little Bird, go 
back to the gates, and if that villain Festinghaus 
leaves before me, watch which way he goes. 
I will follow in our taxi and pick you up.’ 

VII. 

If Franz von Festinghaus had not allowed 
himself a few hours’ rest after his long journey. 


300 


GREY FISH. 


before procuring the fine car which stood at 
the door, he would never have received the 
message which reached him as he was drinking 
his second glass of wine. He took it from 
Anita’s silver tray, and tore it open with a 
queer misgiving. ‘ Senor M'Allister presents 
his compliments to Senor Marinero, and begs 
to state that important news just to hand 
removes the necessity for him to leave Bar- 
celona at present. He hopes to have the 
pleasure of communicating with Senor Mari- 
nero at an early date.’ 

The German sprang to his feet. ‘ Is that 
all, girl ? ’ he demanded angrily. 

‘ Si, senor' 

Von Festinghaus stood staring a moment 
at the slip of paper, then strode from the room 
without a word. Anita followed him to the 
house door. ‘Is there any message for my 
master, senor ? ’ 

‘Only this,’ said the German darkly; ‘it 
is a proverb, my dear. “ The fox may know 
much, but the hunter must know more.’” 
He sprang to the driving-seat of his powerful 
car, and glided away. 

With a face ominous as thunder, and at a 
pace that boded ill for anything which might 
meet him, he drove towards the road gate. 
The drive narrowed in the last straight stretch 


BI-ACKLTSTED. 


301 


before the gate, and as the German swept 
down this in full career a man stepped swiftly 
out from the shelter of some bushes — a gaunt 
old man with a grim, hawk-like face. The 
man’s right arm jerked back over his shoulder, 
and Franz von Festinghaus caught the sudden 
gleam of a poised knife. 

With wonderful quickness the German’s 
right hand flew to his breast-pocket, his left 
hand stiU on the steering-wheel. Fifteen 
yards from the gate his revolver cracked out. 
It was all a matter of seconds ; but so is life 
and death. His steering swerved ever so 
little from the straight as he aimed, and as 
the man with the knife sprang backwards, the 
great car crashed into the stone gate-post, and 
amid the shattered ruin Franz von Festinghaus 
lay still. 

The Little Bird glanced swiftly up the 
drive, and saw that he was alone. The engine 
was still throbbing amid the wreck of stone 
and iron, and before returning his unthrown 
knife to its sheath, the Catalan drove its sharp 
point with all his force into the tire nearest to 
him. He was kneeling beside the dead man 
when the taxi in which he and Bruce had 
come to the house drew up, and the young 
Scot sprang out. 

‘There has been an accident, sefior,’ said 


302 


GREY FISH. 


Pajarillo calmly. ‘One should drive slowly 
on such a narrow road. A tire bursts, one 
swerves — adios!' He threw up his hands 
with an expressive gesture. 

The chauffeur of the taxi bent over the 
dead man. ‘The cabaUero has broken his 
neck,’ he announced. ‘ Santisima Virgen ! It 
is enough to unnerve a man ! ’ 

‘ It is indeed,’ said Bruce. ‘ You must go 
and report this matter to the authorities at 
once. On the way, stop and send a doctor. 
My friend and I will await your return.’ 

The man drove off, taking the corner by 
the broken gate with extreme caution. 

‘ Stand in front of me a moment. Little 
Bird,’ said Bruce. ‘ There may be papers in 
this rascal’s pocket which may be more use- 
fully examined at the Casa M'Allister than 
at the Capitama General.’ He ran quickly 
through the dead spy’s pockets, tossed the 
revolver among the bushes, and straightening 
himself again, caught the Catalan regarding 
the German with a whimsical expression. 

‘ What are you thinking of, Pablo mio ? ’ 

‘I was thinking, senor,’ said the smuggler 
philosopher, ‘how blind is the chance which 
sways the balance of men’s lives — how you 
and I, after a hundred adventures, stand safely 
here, looking down upon the place from which 


BI,ACKI,ISTED. 


308 


we started, and upon this man, who, two days 
ago, held us as good as dead. He hated us 
very heartily ; but he was a clever worker in 
his own cause. It is my belief he would have 
died more happily with my knife in his throat 
than by this blind cuff of fate. It would have 
been more satisfactory both for him and for 
me.’ 

‘ It would have been more difficult to 
explain at the Capitania General,’ said Bruce 
grimly. ‘ Pablo, I believe you are a pagan 1 ’ 

The smuggler crossed himself piously. 
‘ God forbid 1 ’ he exclaimed. ‘ All the same, 
accidents are tragic things, Senor Bruce.’ 

‘You will take a better view of them, 
Pablo, when your wife and family welcome 
you home this evening.’ 

‘ Hombre, and that is true enough 1 ’ ex- 
claimed the Catalan. ‘ To think that for the 
moment I was forgetting them — my wife and 
family, who have been awaiting me so long ! 
Ah ! here comes the doctor.’ 


THE END. 


Edinburgh ; 

Printed by W. & R. Chambers, Limited 



















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